Unfinished Business
by sorceror
Summary: Sequel to Fortress Around Your Heart
1. Remarks

Unfinished Business

Remarks

What little response there was to "Fortress Around Your Heart" was positive, and a few requests have come in over the years for further stories involving Fortress and the X-Men. I didn't want to write any more until I thought I had ideas worth writing about, and I haven't had much time to do writing anyway. However, my personal stars aligned somewhat and this is the result. Hopefully at least a few others will enjoy it. It should be comprehensible to those who did not read what came before, but of course reading that is recommended. 

It's still set way back in the neighborhood of UXM 200 or so, but the chronology is not quite canon, and a few elements from later have obviously crept in. 

Legally, as before, Fortress is my own creation, everyone else is Marvel's. Everything except the appendix is released to the public domain, do with it as you will. Two caveats with that, however: Marvel may be rather peeved with you if you try to make money with their characters, and you are politely requested to let me know if you archive this. 

"Sorceror", "Dr. Manhattan", sorceror171@hotmail.com 


	2. Dramatic Entrance

Chapter One - Dramatic Entrance

An eight-foot-tall, five-foot-wide man makes an impression wherever he goes. When the man is clad in an armored costume, and easily walks through a brick wall, people tend to become alarmed. Since this had just happened, there were panicked, fleeing citizens everywhere. Juggernaut lumbered forward, aimed for the bank across the street. 

"Hold it right there!" The voice echoed from above. Fortress hovered overhead, positioning himself between the ponderous criminal and the bank. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Please?" Greg stared down at the powerful criminal, trying to remember everything he'd read about him in the X-Men's files. 

"I dunno who you are, kid, but you'd better get out of the way. Nobody stops the Juggernaut." His bulky legs pumped forward. 

"I didn't think that'd work, but I had to try. In a similar vein..." Greg's eyes narrowed as he concentrated. The forcefield that filled and surrounded his body flowed, then leaped forward. A column of force a foot wide slammed into Juggernaut's chest with a clap of thunder. 

He didn't even slow down. The massive armored head swung upward; Greg could make out the smirk inside the helmet. "I hope you've got more than that!" He continued his inexorable march forward. 

_{Six more minutes. That's all I need,}_ Fortress thought. "Well, okay, let's try this." Tendrils of force exended down from his hands, brushing against Juggernaut's sides, gently at first, and then more forcefully. 

The hulking figure stopped. "What the hell are you doing?" he cried, glaring up at the hovering mutant, batting away the shimmering tendrils of energy. 

Greg looked a bit sheepish. "I was kind of hoping you might be ticklish. Oh well." 

Juggernaut resumed his advance on the bank. "Jeez, why do I get the weird ones?" he muttered. 

"Okay, Juggy. Let's pull out the big guns!" Greg yelled down. Juggernaut paused for a second, glancing up, but didn't look too concerned. 

Greg concentrated his field into a blade; tons of force chopped across his adversary's torso in a space no wider than a few atoms. Almost nothing material could resist such an attack. 

And the material didn't. Juggernaut's costume peeled back, sliced cleanly open in a three-foot swath. The man's chest underneath was, however, totally unmarked. _{Cripes, can he really be that tough?}_ Greg thought. 

Juggernaut frowned. "Kid, you just bought yourself some serious pain. It's damn near impossible to find a tailor who works with unstable molecules!" He reached out and casually yanked a lampost from the sidewalk. Brandishing it like a bat, he stomped forward into the street. 

Fortress dipped down a bit, gliding over to his left a little. The giant snarled and swung the post, but he was out of range. He jumped forward, drawing the metal pole back like an overmuscled Babe Ruth preparing to knock one out of the park. 

Which was just what Fortress had hoped for. Two blades slashed into the street, cutting out a circle around where Juggernaut landed. A comical look of surprise flashed across the behemoth's face, visible even through his helmet. Juggernaut, and the chunk of pavement he stood on, dropped down into a storm drain with a resounding crash. 

Greg shot down and into the bank, eyes darting this way and that, ignoring the cowering tellers and customers. _{There has to be one in here somewhere,}_ he thought. _{Aha! Bingo! Come to poppa!}_ Grasping the object of his search in a pincer of force, he zipped back out over the street outside. 

Juggernaut pulled himself up out of the pit, growling. He had lost the lampost somewhere down there. His eyes lit upon Greg, and he started towards the young man with violence in his eyes. But then he pulled up short; something hovered in front of his face. 

Greg adjusted the butt-end of the fire extinguisher so that it was an inch from the front openings of the behemoth's helmet. He was holding it from a distance with his field; a tube that surrounded it, leaving the bottom exposed. Juggernaut was bringing his arm up to swat it away, but it was too late. Fortress squeezed. 

The was a sodden wet **whump** as the cannister exploded, the contents blowing out at high speed and pressure. The helmet was instantly, utterly filled with compressed, still-expanding foam. It went into eyes, ears, nose, and mouth; the giant couldn't even choke, there was no room. 

Greg smiled with satisfaction as the human tank clawed at his helmet, a small waterfall of foam squirting out of the face and eye holes. Finally he managed to pry it off, and thrashed his head vigorously, looking for all the world like a massive wet puppy trying to shake himself dry. Foam drained in a river from his nose. _{Too bad he doesn't need to breathe,}_ Greg thought. 

Juggernaut seemed beyond fury now; though he couldn't see, he clamped onto a parked minivan with his groping hands, and threw it toward Fortress. He came surprisingly close, and Greg dodged to the side, letting it fly harmlessly past. 

_{Just another minute or two,}_ he thought happily. He reached out with his field and flipped his opponent onto his back as the giant frantically rubbed at his eyes. Then he heard the scream from behind. 

Greg whirled, his heart sinking. The minivan had slammed into a wall and fallen upside-down onto the sidewalk. A middle-aged woman was trapped underneath, the lower half of her body stuck under the hood. _{Oh, no!}_

He flashed over, trying to figure out the best way to help. "Hang on, I'll get you out of there!", he called, looking over the wreck. _{Crud. I can't just pick it up, the metal's bent too much. It might injure her worse.}_ Instead, he began quickly slashing at the chassis with blades of force, whittling in steel. The woman kept screaming; too late, he noticed her staring behind him. 

He tried to turn, but Juggernaut's incoherent roar reached him at the same time as a piledriving backhand slammed into his side. Greg shot across the street, blasting completely through a building into the alley behind it. 

Fortress sat up and stared at himself. His right arm, right torso, and both legs were glowing red. "Oh, crap!" 

"That's right, kiddo. You're out." The scenery flickered and vanished, leaving just a metal-walled room the size of a school gymnasium. Logan's voice echoed from the command booth above. 

Greg sullenly rose, glaring up at the two mutants running his Danger Room session. "I only had like, another minute to go! He couldn't have hurt me that bad with one punch!" 

"Oh yes he could, sugar," Rogue called down. "Ah guarantee, he really is that strong. Be glad that was only difficulty three; any higher and you'd be 'dead'. He's smarter and faster than that in real life." 

"What was I supposed to do, let that woman die?" 

"She shouldn't have been hurt in the first place. You could have stopped that van yourself, but you let it go by. You just can't do that in a crowded city." Wolverine's voice was harsh, and not because of the cigar he was smoking. 

"...okay, fine, you got me there. That was a mistake." Greg sounded both irritated and embarrassed. "What's my score?" 

Rogue checked the readout. "You were doin' over 90 before that woman got hurt. You came close to the target time, and you picked the right way to try to rescue her, but it still woulda been only a 57. Then Logan gave you fifteen bonus points for creativity. A pass, by two points." Rogue smiled. 

"Yeah, I damn near busted a gut laughing when you pulled that fire extinguisher trick. We gotta remember that for next time, eh?" Finally there was some approval in Wolverine's voice. 

"I thought that up when I was studying last night." Greg smiled nastily. "If you're near a hardware store, try insulation foam or drywall cement. That'd be even worse." 

"Look, kid, you've got a knack for strategy, for coming up with plans nobody expects. And your powers are nothing to sneeze at, either." Then Logan frowned. "Your weakness is tactics. You've got to learn to think on your feet. You forgot about your opponent, trying to rescue that woman. I can't fault your priorities, but you ain't any good to her if you're knocked out and bleeding in an alley, eh?" 

"I'll remember next time." Greg frowned. 

"Don't feel too bad, honey." Rogue grinned at her boyfriend. "I don't think anyone's been put up alone against Juggernaut before, after only two and a half months of trainin'. We woulda been shocked if you'd actually pulled it off." 


	3. Quiet Reflections

Chapter Two - Quiet Reflections

One of the wonderful things about working with the X-Men was the access to the advanced alien technology they had received from the Shi'ar empire. Greg was still learning about it (and unlearning a few things he'd been taught in school). He'd used some of their tricks to build a portable, solid-state music player that could survive the ridiculous number of G's of acceleration that he could pull when flying. 

Cruising along at Mach 8, he grooved to Lila Cheney's "High Up", a song about a fighter pilot obsessed with flying. One of the reasons he liked her as an artist was that she didn't just write the same old songs about love and breakups and such. And when she did, they tended to be from a different angle - kind of like the Barenaked Ladies, only a lot grittier. 

This was a song he could relate to. He wasn't actually addicted to flying (or at least, he didn't think so), but there were few things in life more fun. 

_{Like, for example...}_ Greg smiled as he remembered the make-out session he'd had with Rogue after his training session. The term at UW would be over in just a few more weeks, and he'd be transferring to Xavier's school. At the speeds he could move, Wisconsin wasn't that far away, but being next door was better than several states over. 

_{Besides, I can keep better tabs on things from there.}_ Being away a lot of the time, he usually only found out after the fact about the amazing troubles the X-Men tended to land in. Like that crazy Asgard mess. He was in an unusual position; too old for the New Mutants, but lacking enough training to be in the X-Men. 

He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be an X-Man, either. First, of course, he was normally rather prudent about his safety, and his only official outing with them had very nearly gotten him killed. Second, while he thought encouraging amicable mutant-human relations was an admirable goal, he wasn't at all certain that it was possible. Incidents of hate crimes against mutants and increasingly strident posturing by politicians didn't help his attitude much. 

Rogue was a believer, though, and if she was going to be putting herself in danger, Greg at least wanted to be around to help. 

------------

From the Journal of Charles Xavier

...while in many ways Greg would seem to be an ideal candidate for membership in the X-Men, I still have my reservations. He has many strengths, but his weaknesses cannot be ignored. 

He seems to have had a stabilizing effect on Rogue. Their affection for each other is strong and genuine (I, at least, can be certain of that) despite the stresses of their unusual situation, and she has never seemed happier. Greg does seem to bring out a possessive streak in her, though. 

Provided he is given time to think, he is capable of devising creative, if unorthodox, solutions to a problem. He has a tendency to lose this flexibility under pressure, however. 

His powers are formidable, both offensively and, of course, defensively. His physical strength lies between that of Rogue and Colossus, but that is deceptive, as it derives from his field, and not his actual muscles. He can lift 60 tons over his head with one finger; but he cannot do better with both arms. 

His ability to extend and reshape his field allows him to direct his power in ways that Rogue and Colossus cannot. An ultrasharp blade applied with tons of force is a dangerous weapon; indeed, I feel he will need significant practice to be able to apply it safely. Unlike Phoenix's telekinesis, however, he cannot act through walls. 

His flight speed is staggering; simple calculations show that 60 tons of force, applied to 175 pounds, leads to accelerations in the hundreds of gravities. Of course, he cannot really reach his peak speed in atmosphere; power must be diverted to deflecting shockwaves. Still, perhaps only Northstar could hope to match his speed. 

However, his reflexes are human-normal. A touch above average, but he is nevertheless among the slowest fighters here. He is easily capable of flying faster than he can safely manage. This is a solvable problem (c.f. Cannonball) but currently one of grave concern. 

It is well that his defenses are so strong, since his relatively slower reflexes mean he cannot easily dodge many attacks. His field provides excellent protection from a wide range of phenomena; cautious testing has shown him proof against electromagnetic and ionizing radiation, extreme impact, heat, cold, acid, etc. Moreover, the field is active almost constantly, he does not need to invoke it. 

It has proven of at least some utility in defending against more unusual attacks, as well. To affect him, one must penetrate or bypass the field; but to weaken the field requires affecting him. Since it normally extends at least a few micrometers outside his skin, he has proven immune to Rogue's power. It offered some protection against the Genoshan power-damper called "Wipeout" as well. 

Of course, he is not utterly invulnerable. Enough force can penetrate the field. Unlike Colossus, he needs to breathe; gas-borne attacks may often be effective. In addition, his field is an insulator; he can prevent heat from reaching him, or reduce outward heat flow if, say, immersed in liquid nitrogen. But if the temperature outside his field is higher than his body temperature, he cannot pump the heat away. Surrounded by fire too long, he will collapse from heat prostration. 

The most fascinating property of his field is the limited mental protection it provides; even I frequently have great difficulty reading more than his basic emotions, and psychic attacks are blunted. It would seem this effect is why Cerebro never detected him until he presented himself. Additionally, his will is unusually strong (no doubt partly due to the excercise it gets manipulating his forcefield). It is ironic that someone so well-protected nevertheless has a nearly pathological fear of mental manipulation. 

From what Greg has shared with me, the psychic assault he suffered from the "Genoshan" interrogator was brutal. Indeed, the man was so needlessly sadistic that he failed to take sufficient care in his own defense; that and good luck are what allowed Greg to escape. 

It left him scarred, with a deep, reflexive distrust of all psychic phenomena. It was only his overriding fear of another mental attack that persuaded him to allow me to help train him in psychic defense. Even that was done reluctantly, but he has been an extremely motivated pupil. At this point, with his field, his will, and the training I have provided, he is quite possibly the most difficult mental target of any non-psychic I have experience with. Any mentalist who attacks him will be in for an unpleasant surprise. 

But here is the key weakness, the primary reason I hesitate to place Fortress among the X-Men. If attacked mentally, he will resist with his entire being, with no regard to other priorities, and with no moral reservations whatsoever. 

One risk is to Greg himself. His defenses are substantial, but should a powerful psychic breach them, I worry that his self, his ego, would not withstand the shock. Little of him would remain. It is doubtful he could be beaten at this point; but he could be broken, shattered irreparably. 

The other problem is that, in defending himself, he would almost certainly wreak unimaginable destruction on his assailaint, and anything or anyone that comes between them. I do not believe he is capable of making rational judgements in such circumstances. Even the threat of an attack may cloud his reason... 


	4. Investigative Reporting

Chapter Three - Investigative Reporting

"As you know, ever since Greg told us about his experience in Genosha several of you have been assigned to investigate them from various directions." Xavier looked around the table at the other X-Men. "I have been receiving your reports singly over the last several weeks, and the picture they paint is very disquieting. I don't want to influence your judgements yet, however. I'd like you to share your reports first, and see what you conclude, before I reveal my own suspicions. Rogue, you start, if you please." 

"Ah was put on Genosha's 'Geology an' History up to WWII'." The others snickered a little at the overdone impression of the Professor. "Not much to be found, though, and I hit lots o' libraries." Rogue grimaced a little. "Couldn't you just assign me to do a thousand push-ups or somethin' next time?" she asked plaintively. 

"Your patience needed exercise, not your muscles. In the future, stay in your assigned position until ordered to attack - no matter how tempting a target you're presented. I expect you all to take Danger Room sessions as seriously as real missions." Xavier looked very smug. 

She glared in response. "Anyway, there's not much to tell. Occupied off an' on by Indian and African explorers. Finally settled by preacher Nathaniel Hammer in 1710 as a colony for his flock. Thought the world was too corrupt. Basically Calvinist, with a heavy emphasis on predestination and hard work as the way to salvation. English is still the primary language, Caucasians the majority." 

"It's a decently big island, north and east of Madagascar, and less than a quarter the size of it. About 150 miles long by 60 miles wide. Mostly weathered rock except for Hammer Bay in the southwest. That's why nobody else wanted it. The colonists had tough times, some famine. Not much arable land to farm, so they supplemented with fishing. Eventually they became kind of a trading center to make ends meet." 

Rogue brought up a graphical map. "After WWI they found iron ore, and a little silver and bauxite. Trace amounts of other minerals like gold, but nothing commercial. Not even semi-precious stones. They've been exporting iron and silver ever since, and once aluminum caught on they started mining bauxite, too. They used the money to buy food and fertilizers and stuff." 

"Couple minor distinguishing features in their history. Piracy was kinda common down there, with the trade going on, so they had a small navy to defend shipping. Got a reputation, mainly by being awfully ruthless to pirates they came across. Also, they had women in their military from way back - apparently 'cause of the small population, they needed 'em." 

"One interesting story - in the 1840's one of their sailors reportedly had the ability to 'turn the sea to glass', and freeze enemy ships in the water. They took out a bunch of pirates until he got clipped by a cannonball. From what I could gather, it's a safe bet he was a mutant." 

"That's about it. The Germans set up a refueling base there in WWII. I dunno how much to read into that, though. The Genoshans probably couldn'ta put up much resistance, but from a couple editorials I read, they maybe didn't want to. Oh, well." 

Xavier glanced in Kitty's direction, and she began. "I looked over their history post-WWII. Fairly normal for a while, population grew quite a bit once they could sell ore. After that it's pretty weird. Ten years ago, their mining production jumped by an order of magnitude, and they started selling processed metals. High-quality stuff, too. I did some digging into satellite photos - there's no signs of strip mining or anything. In fact, they filled in the strip mine they did have." 

"Then I noticed something from the images. Here, let me show you." She turned and tapped briefly on a keyboard, and the big screen lit up with an aerial shot of the island. A brief slideshow began, timestamps in the lower corner. A collective gasp rose from the group. 

"Yup, they've pretty much doubled their cultivated land every year for the last six. This is even more amazing when you notice that they've stopped buying any significant quantities of fertilizer or pesticides. They actually export some grain to neighboring countries now." 

"So what are they doing with the money they were spending on food?" Nightcrawler asked. 

"Construction. A lot of new buildings, homes, roads. Weapons, too. They seem to like having well-equipped armed forces. Computers, other high-tech things. Pharmaceuticals. Finished products, and also stuff to build an industrial base - they apparently want to be self-sufficient. But looking at their economy, there are things that don't make sense, and I'd say a lot of money is missing. It doesn't add up." 

"Thank you, Kitty," Xavier said. "Storm, if you please?" 

"I hadn't heard much about Genosha, even when I lived in Africa." She paused, thinking. "I asked some questions when I was there recently." The group listened attentively; Storm had returned with a healing head wound she didn't talk about. "I really only learned two things. Fishermen from neighboring countries give them a wide berth; boats that come too close to 'their' waters tend not to come back." 

"The other story I heard was more disturbing. Apparently, about four years ago a woman showed up at the French embassy in Mozambique, saying she had fled Genosha and begging for asylum. A group of soldiers in Genoshan uniforms appeared out of nowhere and rolled over the security guards. The man I talked to said the woman defended herself with some kind of energy blasts, but she was taken down and the whole group vanished." 

Kitty broke in. "Maybe that explains one of my economic anomalies. For a few years now they've been selling bauxite to France at well below cost. Smells like a cover-up of a diplomatic incident to me." 

A confused murmur began, but Xavier overrode it. "Logan, perhaps you should inform us what you discovered." 

"I've been leanin' on some contacts in Madripoor. Apparently, for the last decade or so, if you have black market military tech to sell, Genosha is a good buyer. The more exotic the better." He frowned. "It took some real persuadin', but I got some interesting info out of somebody." 

He paused. "He'd been on the docks, loading crates and paid good money to forget he was ever there. He saw a group of guys, the sellers and buyers, talking. The buyers were Genoshan, and the sellers seemed to be Latverian." 

"Doom's pet country?" Peter asked, aghast. 

"Yup. There were a lot of crates goin' to Genosha, big ones. Only a few headed back, though. He said they were real heavy." Logan frowned, glancing at Rogue. "Guess they found a way to extract that gold." 

Rogue looked worried. "Maybe, but I don't think Doom would care about that. He might be interested in their pitchblende, though." Now everyone else looked worried, too. Dr. Doom and uranium formed a bad combination however you looked at it. 

"So. Does anyone have any theories to tie these facts together?" Xavier asked, looking around the table. 

"With what happened to Greg, it's pretty clear. They're exploiting mutants. I bet with pitchblende around they even have a higher-than-normal percentage of them." Phoenix sounded bitter. The future she had escaped from hadn't exploited mutants, it had exterminated them. The others around the table nodded. 

"Even so, there would have to have been some awfully powerful mutants born there to make so many changes. That's a lot of luck to account for." Kitty seemed thoughtful. 

"Unfortunately, they may not have needed luck." Xavier looked concerned. "I share your conclusions. However, I had my suspicions earlier. I once knew a man named David Moreau, an expert in my own field, genetics. He came from Genosha." 

Xavier paused, remembering. "He was genuinely brilliant, though in my opinion, not concerned enough with the moral implications of his work. He only published four papers, but they are still cited regularly today. The first three were on genetic theory, but the fourth one detailed some advanced techniques in gene manipulation." 

"Shortly after that paper was published, 12 years ago, he vanished from the scientific scene. I asked some colleagues at the time; they said that they had received emails from him. He was moving back to his home country." Xavier looked up. "I do not think it a coincidence that strange things started happening in Genosha within two years." 

"So, what are we to do about it, Professor?" Peter asked. "Are we ready to overthrow a country?" 

"Certainly not, at least at this point. Clearly, we need more information. A survey mission is called for. Storm, you are of course field leader, and the ultimate decision rests with you, but I have some suggestions." He paused, and she nodded for him to continue. 

"I propose landing here, on the eastern coast, near the town of Vigilance." He indicated a harbor community on the map. "You and Logan are the most experienced at reconnaisance and infiltration. You should be able to work your way to the capital, observing as you go. And if they have Cerebro-like technology for detecting mutants, you, regrettably, have a very good chance of passing unnoticed." Storm again nodded, no sign of her sadness showing. 

A botched government operation to capture Rogue had accidentally stripped Ororo of her powers to control the weather. Nothing short of a detailed DNA analysis would indicate she was anything but a normal human. But she remained intelligent, well-trained, and ferociously determined. She had won leadership of the team fair and square from Cyclops, and no one had any reservations following her. 

"I agree. The others remain with the Blackbird, ready to back us up should we encounter trouble. Once we have a clearer picture of what we face, we shall decide on a course of action." She frowned. "There seems no indication that there is an immediate threat; I propose we leave Sunday night. If we time things correctly we can be lost in the Monday morning commute there." 

Rogue looked to Xavier. "You thinkin' of breakin' Greg in on this one?" 

Xavier and Storm exchanged glances; they had discussed Fortress earlier. "I do not think so," Storm replied, noting Rogue's frown. "If all goes well, we shall not need him. His schedule, at least until his term ends, is not as flexible as ours. And, finally, you know how he feels about Genosha. I'm not sure he would... show the proper restraint." 


	5. Harsh Words

Chapter Four - Harsh Words

Publicly, the Hellfire Club was an old, upper-crust New York social club with A-List members, and a reputation for being mildly naughty. Privately, it was extremely naughty; members could indulge nearly any taste, sexual or otherwise, with extreme discretion. Secretly, unknown even to most members, it was not merely naughty, but ruthless. The Inner Circle was composed of powerful mutants who were also rich and well-connected. They didn't quite plan world domination (or, at least, most of them didn't) but they did work to protect and extend their influence. 

They had once tried to kill the X-Men, but in the current climate of strained relations between mutants and humans, something of an armed truce had developed. Each group knew enough to expose the other, and in terms of raw power the mutants were fairly evenly matched. Their main area of competition currently involved identifying and recruiting newly-manifested mutants. 

While little love was lost between them, at least the forms of civil discourse were maintained. The X-Men and New Mutants had been invited to a pre-holiday, members-and-guests-only party at the Hellfire Club's main facility, and it would have been rude to refuse. 

Greg had seriously debated attending. His face hadn't been seen in public, and the X-Men were as certain as they could be that the Inner Circle couldn't tap the mansion's computers anymore. Allowing himself to be seen (and, no doubt, covertly photographed) just about guaranteed they would be able to track him down. He didn't want his family threatened later if the current cold war turned hot. 

But, in the end, Rogue was going, and he wanted to be there for moral support. He was wearing a stunningly expensive suit, and trying not to make too many missteps as he and Rogue danced formally along with several other couples, many of them celebrities. "So, how soon can we get out of here?" 

"Another couple hours, at least," Rogue replied. She had stuck with her signature green color for the dress, and sensibly wore long evening gloves. The waltz ended and they made their way to the bar, choosing non-alcoholic drinks. They had no reason to expect trouble, but neither were they taking foolish chances. 

They stood, arm in arm, sipping their drinks, eyeing the crowd. Xavier was in some deep discussion with Sebastian Shaw, the 'Black King' of the Inner Circle, and Emma Frost, the 'White Queen'. Shaw had nearly killed Rogue once, and Greg had been briefed on Frost's telepathic abilities. They were keeping their distance from choice. 

Kitty and Rachel were on the far side of the room, keeping half an eye on the New Mutants and the Hellfire Club counterpart, the "Hellions". Peter, Logan, and Kurt (using an image inducer to give him a less alarming appearance) were playing poker with some high-rollers at one of the tables. Peter wasn't doing so well, but Kurt and Logan seemed to be ahead. 

"Ah, the young lovers. Introduce me to your friend, Rogue." Both were startled; Selene, the 'Black Queen', had come up behind them with total silence. She was clearly amused as their heads jerked towards the raven-haired beauty. 

"Selene, meet Greg. Greg, Selene, the Black Queen." The air seemed to carry a chill as she spoke. Selene was very likely the most dangerous of the Inner Circle; a mutant 'vampire' who had stayed alive at least two thousand years, perhaps more, by draining the life forces of others. Rogue had survived her touch, but never forgotten it. 

"No last name?" Her jet-black eyes twinkled as much as her voice. 

"Ah never needed one, an' neither did you," Rogue replied. 

"Quite so. Well, 'Greg', what do you think of our little celebration?" 

He looked around at the splendid ballroom. Clearly, no expense had been spared - even the appetizers must have cost more to prepare than a midrange lawyer made in a year. "Not bad," he said, noncomittally. 

"Is that all? Perhaps we should retire to the private areas. I feel certain we could impress you. All sorts of interesting diversions available," she grinned, slyly, nodding toward the scantily-clad waitresses passing by with hors d'ourvres. 

Rogue tightened her grip on Greg's arm. "Don't worry, dear, there are accomodating gentlemen available as well. Oh, I'm sorry," Selene suddenly paused. "I had quite forgotten, that's not really an option for you, is it?" 

Greg glared at Selene, who appeared not to notice. "We're fine, thank you very much." 

She gave them a dazzling smile. "Ah, how fortunate you have this handsome young man, Rogue. Do keep him happy, now." She glanced over their shoulders. "Ah, Von Roehm appears to need my presence. I hope you'll excuse me?" Taking their silence for assent, Selene glided away. 

Rogue and Fortress made a very quiet couple the rest of the evening. 

------------

Greg and Rogue were changing out of their formal clothes in her room. They had flown on ahead of the rest of the group, who were still driving home in a pair of vans. "That bitch," Rogue fumed, "had better pray Ah never get an excuse to go after her!" 

"I know what you mean," Greg agreed. "I wanted to deck her myself." 

Rogue whirled on him. "Oh, don't you start! You didn't exactly look away from those half-naked bimbos!" 

Greg looked surprised and embarassed. "Hey, I'm sorry, I'm male. Those outfits are designed to make guys look! It's not like I was staring down anyone's dress..." 

"Hell, you'd probably have taken Selene up on it if Ah hadn't been there!" Rogue had turned away, and was methodically putting on a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. 

_{Aw, crud,}_ Greg thought. _{Guess we won't be doing anything intimate tonight.}_ "That's not fair. Even if I was stupid enough to let my guard down there, I wouldn't do that! She was just trying to get under our skins. If she's as old as you say, she must have had a lot of practice." 

"Well, it worked. Ah'm officially pissed. At both of you." 

Greg was getting irritated. "We've been over this. I'm no saint, I admit, but I'm not the kind of guy who cheats. I can understand you being jealous, especially after what Peter did, but..." 

"But you don't have to be," Rogue broke in. "Ah can't cheat. Ah might as well have a chastity belt on." 

"That's not the point! Maybe I physically could cheat, but I won't! Cripes, I love you!" 

"Ah can really hear it in your voice." Rogue glared at him. 

Greg opened his mouth, stopped, and shook his head. "Screw this. I'm heading home. Maybe you'll be more rational Monday." 

"Maybe, but Ah won't be here." 

"Huh?" Greg paused in the middle of pulling his jeans on. "Where are you going?" 

"Genosha. We're going to have a look around." Defiance burned on her face. 

"What?" Greg stood up, looking a bit comical with his pants half on. "Are you crazy? I told you people what happened there! Those bastards are... are... cripes! I can't believe you'd just waltz down there and..." 

"We need to know what's goin' on. The next mutant who passes by might not get away. And what about the ones they already grabbed?" 

"I just... fine. Go get kidnapped and brainwashed, all of you! I'm done with this. Don't bother asking me to come." He pulled his clothes on rapidly and headed toward the door. 

"Don't worry, sugar. We weren't gonna." Rogue sounded faintly amused. 

Greg turned to look her, then stalked out without a word. 

Rogue sat down on her bed. Suddenly she didn't feel very angry. And she certainly didn't feel happy. 


	6. Extra Baggage

Chapter Five - Extra Baggage

The Blackbird was a remarkable craft. Heavily retrofitted with Shi'ar technology, it performed far beyond the capabilities of the SR-71 that it was originally based on, and had a radar profile so low as to make a brave engineer weep with jealousy. It was perfectly capable of making a round trip to Genosha and back without refeuling, and doing so at speeds few jet fighters could match for any length of time. 

At the fuel-efficient Mach 4 speed, it would take about three hours to make it to Genosha. Time zones being what they were, that meant they left New York state at 6:30pm so they would arrive in the early morning at their destination. Kurt was at the controls, Kitty sitting next to him as copilot. 

Normally Rogue insisted on flying (she sometimes wondered if it was her or Carol who loved jets so much) but she hadn't slept well over the weekend, and was trying to catch up. The others, Ororo and Logan in particular, were also trying to get as much sleep as possible on the way. The two pilots weren't talking much, to avoid waking them. 

An indicator flashed on the control board, with a buzzing. Kitty touched a switch and the sound died while she checked readouts. "Something's behind us. Following about a quarter mile back." She frowned. "Small, doesn't show up well on radar or infrared." No heat signature meant it wasn't any kind of jet or rocket. 

Kurt exchanged glances with her. "Well, ping it. That'll tell us if it's him." Kitty tapped quickly, and a focused radar pulse was sent to the object. They looked at the reading. "Human shaped, and it reflected a lot of the energy back this time. It's Greg all right." His field would let minimal amounts of radio energy through, but a strong radar beam could cook food, and triggered his defenses. 

"So, what do we do?" Kitty asked. Kurt was in charge when Storm was unavailable. 

"We can't outrun him. We might as well invite him aboard. At least we can keep an eye on him here." Kurt watched as Kitty opened a channel. Sure enough, Greg was wearing a Shi'ar helmet. Besides communication equipment and a fairly bright little computer, it sported an infrared mode that enabled him to follow their exhaust. 

The other mutants awoke as the airlock cycled, allowing Greg to enter even while the craft was flying at speed. "As I recall, you were not invited to this expedition," Storm said as he pulled off the helmet. 

"I don't suppose I can talk you people out of this?" he said, looking around. No one answered. "Fine, then I might as well come along for the fun. I've been hankering for some payback." 

"That ain't the way Rogue told it," Logan said dryly. She was pointedly ignoring Greg, looking out a window. 

"Yeah, well, I'm here now," Greg replied curtly, settling into a couch at the back. 

"You realize you shall be following orders?" Storm asked pointedly. "And that this is not exactly a promising start?" 

Greg looked at her. "I'm not an idiot or a cowboy, I'll play nice. But I'm coming along." 

Logan, like the veteran warrior he was, had already fallen back to sleep. It took the others a bit longer, Greg and Rogue in particular. 

------------

The Blackbird landed almost silently among a few scraggly trees a few hundred yards inland, about half a mile from Vigilance. The mutants swiftly pulled camouflage netting over the craft and set up watchpoints. Kurt checked in with Xavier by satellite as the rest of the team disembarked. 

Dawn was still a couple of hours away and Storm and Wolverine wanted to take advantage of the darkness while it was available. They swiftly grabbed their gear and checked their encrypted comlinks. Everything was in place, so they loped off into the night toward town. 

There was no sign that they had been detected, but no one was comfortable enough to try to sleep again. 

------------

Storm had been orphaned young, and lived for much of her childhood on the streets of Cairo. She had learned theiving from masters of the craft, and though she didn't need to practice those skills to stay alive now, she remained world-class. She could tell at a glance if a house was occupied, or ripe for the plucking. It was a simple matter to find a wealthy home and break in. The expensive alarm system fell so quickly she felt a bit cheated. 

"These guys'll be gone for another week on vacation, it looks like," Logan said, rifling through the home office. Storm had already gathered enough local currency from the wall safe, and examples of identification papers. She was busy forging them some convincing replicas. One line on the driver's license gave her pause - 'gene-positive'. She marked 'no', as in the examples before her, but she was troubled. 

They chose some local clothes from the closets, trying out of courtesy not to take too much that wouldn't be insured. Setting off in the early dawn, they made their way into the town proper. They intended to catch the morning train for the capital, and investigate in earnest there. Arriving a bit early, the pair bought tickets and went to get some hot drinks at a stand outside, overlooking the harbor. 

Logan pointed down to one of the docks. "Check that out." 

Storm looked; a big man in an odd, multi-colored, skintight suit was lumbering along, carrying several large crates without apparent effort. He placed them next to the road and ambled back for more. She couldn't hear what happened then, but Wolverine's enhanced hearing picked it up clearly. 

A dock worker came up, yelling. "Jeez, you genejoke, even you can't be that damn stupid! Those crates are going to that ship over there!" 

The big man looked sad. "Sorry, boss, sorry, boss. Charlie said by road." 

"Charlie doesn't know crap! Don't blame this on him, you stupid mutate! Just get those crates loaded!" 

"Yes, boss. Sorry, boss." The big man lumbered away, picking the crates up and moving to the other ship. 

"Damn things are more trouble than they're worth," the man muttered, headed toward the office. "Charlie, you moron, did you tell that genejoke to move that load to the street?", he called as he strolled back inside, slamming the door. 

Logan told Storm what he'd heard. She was quiet and pensive on the train ride in. 


	7. Carefree Tourists

Chapter Six - Carefree Tourists

Ororo almost gasped as they came up from the platforms to the terminal at Central Station. She hadn't expected it to be so breathtaking and beautiful. Glass and marble were everywhere, held by a thin spiderweb of metal. A few graceful support columns, no more than an inch thick, touched ground here and there. It seemed impossible that they could support the weight, but somehow the overall impression was of suspended gravity, not imminent catastrophe. 

Logan let out a low whistle. "You check out that kiosk, get oriented. I want to see something." Storm strolled over through the crowd and inspected the information available. She worked to quickly memorize the locations of key features - hospitals, police stations, major roads. 

He rejoined her in a moment. "Either they've got a lot more money than anyone thought, or ultra-strong metal's cheap here," he reported quietly. "I nicked one of those columns with a claw - and I actually felt a little resistance." Storm absorbed that for a moment. Wolverine's claws were molecularly sharp and paper-thin. Anything that could put up a noticeable fight must be tough indeed. 

"Let's keep moving. To the northwest there is a hospital, perhaps we shall dine in the cafeteria there." High-tech tended to make it to medical use fairly quickly, and hospital security was set up to inhibit disruptive patients and minimize theft, not to foil espionage. Since 'mutates' were apparently viewed as machines here, it seemed a likely place to begin. 

As they left, they noticed a small group of the bald, brightly-clad people coming out of an unobtrusive door at the side of the terminal. In their conspicuous suits, it was difficult not to see them, though the citizens passing by seemed oblivious to their presence. This despite how one of them started stretching his arms several meters to pick up garbage and refuse on the street. 

Ororo felt a chill as she looked in his eyes for a moment; the empty stare he returned was scarcely sentient. _{Goddess, what did they do to him?}_ she thought with pity. The others placidly boarded an armored vehicle manned by obvious military types, and rode off. 

At the hospital, Storm faked an ankle injury and was admitted to one of the emergency beds. While they were waiting, however, they had time to see the victim of a car accident rushed in. She had several broken ribs, and had lost several pints of blood. 

The doctors began what appeared to the X-Men to be routine care in such a case, until one of the staff called out, "Get 1437 in here!" Shortly thereafter a mutate arrived; as the others, she was bald and clad in a skinsuit, her number prominent on her shoulder. She quickly held her hands over the patient as a bright glow surrounded the injuries. They shrank visibly, her skin knitting closed with amazing speed. 

Storm was examined next, and the intern advised her to take some anti-inflammatories and baby the ankle for a few days. As she and Logan left, they noted the trauma patient, now conscious, thanking the doctors profusely. She didn't even look at the mutate that stood vacantly by the curtain, apparently awaiting orders. 

As they walked the gleaming streets of the capital, they took stock. "It's as bad as we feared. Hell, it's worse," said Logan. "They've practically industrialized mutant opression." 

"Obviously, I agree. But we need to know more - what are they doing to these poor 'mutates', and how?" 

"Only one place to go now." They made their way to a building near the Magistrate HQ. Locks barely slowed Ororo, and they set themselves up in some unleased office space with a view of the facility. Several hours of monitoring the impressive building gave them few clues. 

"Well, from what Greg saw, this is where they process 'em. But they don't seem unusually concentrated here. In fact, the most we've seen was back at the train station," Logan mused. 

Storm called the Blackbird on a secure link, and asked the mutants to run some analyses. The reports came back quickly. "Kitty says the satellites show that a train runs in a circuit between there and a facility about 30 miles to the north, over the mountains. She can't be sure, but it looks like a prison - walls with guards, and so on." 

Logan thought for a while. "Busting into this 'Citadel' is risky. It's too big, an' it's crawling with those schmuck thugs. We can probably learn just as much from that jail. We pinch a car, get there, wait for sundown. Sneak in, get some answers. Maybe liberate some mutants. I'll bet they could tell us a lot." 

------------

Rollo sat in the checkpoint booth, chilly and stiff. He'd been tied expertly, though, so his hands and feet had blood running to them. His head still ached, and the gag was starting to taste pretty sour, but overall it could be worse. And, of course, it would be, once they were found. He tried to remember what had happened. Maybe they'd go easier on them if he could give a complete report. 

Guard duty on this road was a punishment detail, given to Magistrates who'd pissed off the officers. Civilians never drove up this way, they knew better. Most traffic went into the Highlands by rail, so there was little action to break the monotony. Rollo and Mike had almost been happy to see a private car gliding up to their gate. At least they'd get to yell at some people and let the crap roll downhill a little. 

The couple in the car made an odd pair. A short, thick man with bushy sideburns, and a tall, colored woman with a white mohawk and striking blue eyes. The mohawk was pretty unusual; most people took some trouble to avoid baldness. No one wanted to resemble the mutes. 

He'd come up to the passenger side, as Mike started yelling through the window at the driver, "Where do you think you're going? This road is restricted, authorized personnel only." 

The man replied gruffly, "Never saw the mountains before, bub. Wanted to look around." He didn't seem too cowed by Mike's tone. 

That, of course, was unacceptable. "Out of the car, both of you, now!" Mike said, pulling up his rifle. Rollo happily matched him. Sending home a disrespectful civie with a few lumps would do him good. 

The woman got out, glancing at Rollo with cool disdain. "What do you think you're lookin' at, chickie?" Rollo had asked, glaring. He wasn't particularly in to hitting women, but she was just asking for it. 

"An ill-mannered thug," she replied, sounding almost bored. Rollo angrily yanked out his truncheon, advancing on her. Then a grunt from the other side of the car drew his attention. 

Mike was down. Down and very out, it looked like his jaw was broken. He whirled, lashing out with the truncheon. He'd knock this stupid bird out and shoot that runt fast. Maybe he wasn't the best Magistrate on the force, but all of them got lots of combat training. 

After that things were fuzzy. She wasn't there when he swung. Something swept his legs out from under him, and something else grabbed his head on the way down and smashed it into the road. Then an entire truck landed on his stomach. 

By the time he'd stopped vomiting and could turn his head without blacking out, he'd been stripped, bound, and stowed in the guardpost, and the couple was driving off in a Magistrate jeep. Rollo wondered what his commander would do to punish someone who'd already screwed up a disciplinary assignment. From Mike's worried frown, he was considering that question, too, between pained groans. 

------------

Wolverine looked out over the plain towards the prison camp. There could be no doubt as to its nature at this range. It was late, but a few mutates could be seen milling about. Magistrates held guard positions on the walls. Storm was on her way in, taking advantage of the occasional scrub growth for cover. She was good; even with his enhanced senses, he was having trouble following her progress. 

They hadn't seen any sign that Genosha posessed mutant-detecting technology like Cerebro. From clues like the ID cards, it appeared that citizens were given DNA tests to find signs of mutation. Even so, Storm's presumed immunity to such equipment made her the logical choice for infiltration. Logan was close enough to provide backup if needed, though of course they hoped to do this quietly. The other X-Men were on alert at the Blackbird, which had moved a bit closer without jeopardizing its cover. They were ready to break cover and charge in if called. 

The camp seemed lightly manned, and actually not terribly secure; apparently they weren't expecting any trouble from the inmates or from outside. Of course, most prisons weren't set up to prevent break-ins. Storm slipped like a ghost over the south wall, and moved silently toward what appeared to be the 'administration office'. 

Searchlights suddenly turned on and alarms blared. More Magistrates appeared from inside the guardhouses. Wolverine was already sprinting in, tossing a couple of captured grenades and whipping up his rifle. They were obviously outnumbered, but not as bad as he'd feared. If they could move quickly they would almost certainly get out and away. 

Storm whirled and dodged some crackling stun beams, broken-field running to relative cover near a wall. She didn't get next to it, of course; too easy for an enemy to lay a gun flat on the surface and send shots that hugged the wall. A lot of novices made that mistake. She turned and began firing a pistol; two searchlights went dim. 

The south wall was basically clear by the time Wolverine arrived. His claws glided out with a quiet **snikt** and he slashed an exit into the concrete. Then a whine and bright lights overhead made him turn. 

Five aircars shot over the wall above him. Three were landing, cutting off their line of retreat. Two more circled overhead, casting searchlights on Logan as he backed through the hole he'd just cut, directing covering fire at the oncoming troops. Storm would have to watch his back. _{Cripes, we walked right into a trap. Did we miss some kind of surveillance at that checkpoint?}_ He squeezed off a couple of shots, but the fire was coming in thick and he had to dodge. _{Or maybe earlier. Here they can take us out without risking civlians. And where the hell did those aircars come from?}_

Storm was busy herself. Some quick moves had procured her a pair of energy rifles, which she was using with grim efficiency on the guards in the courtyard. Then a flash of light overhead drew her attention. Aircars materialized out of nowhere, headed over the wall. She saw a man on top of one of the walls, guarded by a pair of Magistrates, tapping on a computer of all things. _{That is too strange. Nothing good can come of it,}_ she thought, attempting to get off a shot. 

Too late. The courtyard was suddenly filled; at least thirty Magistrates appeared with a flash of light. _{A teleporter!}_ Storm thought, despairingly. At least she could cut off more reinforcements; a shot from her rifle destroyed the computer the man was using. The explosion nearly knocked him off the wall. She began blasting at the new troops even as they returned fire. _{Logan will have to watch my back,}_ she thought. 

It was over rather quickly. Neither had time to even trigger the alarm to call for rescue. 


	8. Unauthorized Modifications

Chapter Seven - Unauthorized Modifications

Wolverine woke slowly. The world seemed distant, muffled. He hurt, too, even though he felt like he'd been out for a while. His wounds lacked that tingly, itchy feeling they got when he was healing, and that was not good at all. 

He looked up. He was in a Magistrate aircar. They were flying low and fast over the foothills of the Ridgeback mountains. Storm lay next to him, in retraints, though from her bandages it looked like she was too hurt to put up much fight. She wore an odd, electronic collar; Logan realized he had one on too. Several troops regarded them, weapons ready. 

Two people drew his attention. For a moment he thought they were behind glass, but then he realized he just couldn't smell them. It made the whole scene feel somehow unreal. One was a woman in a slightly-more-decorated Magistrate uniform, clearly an officer. The other, a man in generic, mercenary-style garb, was more familiar. 

"I was wondering when you were going to get up, freak. Not nearly so tough without that healing factor, eh?" the man sneered. 

Storm sounded tired, but brave. "You know him?" she asked Logan. 

"This, darlin', is Daniel Hardishane. Ex-CSIS. They found out he was selling intel to the highest bidder. Just barely got out ahead of a team sent to kill him. Word was he was dead, but I never believed it." 

"I always knew I'd see you again, runt," Hardishane crowed. "I really owe you for my current fugitive status." 

"Oh no, bub. I owe you for Sverdlovsk. Four good men didn't make it back, but I'm happy to collect for them, too." They locked eyes for a moment, neither backing down. "Nice company you're keepin'. Suits you." 

"They do know how to handle you muties, don't they?" Hardishane beamed. "They hired me to give 'em a security review. Set a thief to catch a thief, eh?" 

"Must make you happy, eh, darlin'?" Logan glanced at the officer. 

"That's Chief Magistrate to you, mute." Her eyes shifted to the mercenary for a moment. "He has offered some useful advice from time to time," she said simply. Somehow her contempt still came through. 

"They lost a mutie a couple years back. Just one, but word got out, and the rest of the genejokes got hard to control for a while. So the ministers brought me in." He grinned. "Good thing, too. Recognized you right off when I saw the tapes from the cameras at the train station. You set off the mute-sniffer there." His smile broadened. "Thanks for justifying my budget, those things are expensive." 

"You'd do well to tell us who you're working with. We've been watching you since the terminal, we know you've sent and received transmissions. We haven't tracked them yet but it's only a matter of time." The Chief was all business. "We'll get it out of you one way or another, but it'll hurt less if you tell us now." 

Logan sat up. His arms were held uselessly behind his back by thick metal clamps, but his legs had only a long chain between them. He had a shot in his side, a cut along one thigh, and his shoulder hurt a lot. He still tingled from a stun beam. "I think we shall wait," Storm said calmly. 

"You're tough, lady, but we're gonna give you the full workup when we get in. You scan human, but there's something funny about a black woman with blue eyes." The mercenary frowned. "And such a good shot. I didn't count on you blowing Pipeline's link. Now we have to ride these ships back." 

"Perhaps we have a few more surprises," Storm smiled, sitting up despite the pain, drawing as much attention as she could. 

Hardishane was frowning. "Watch 'em. Even without powers, they're..." 

Wolverine was already moving. He jumped forward, spinning. A bullet glanced off the clamps, and then he was amidst the troops. A bit of twisting and kicking and he had the chain shot apart. Storm wrapped her legs around a trooper and clubbed him unconscious with her own clamps. 

The Chief smashed the edge of her hand into his neck, and his side went numb. _{Better move now, while I can,}_ Logan thought. He whirled and slammed the door open. The occupants were not prepared for such a suicidal maneuver. As he was pulled out into the slipstream, he saw the aircar wobbling in the sudden turbulence. 

He worked to turn in the air, looking down. They had been only a hundred feet or so above ground. _{Yup, there's the river. Comin' up fast,}"_ he had time to think. _{Too fast without my healin' factor?}_

He activated the emergency beacon in his boot as he smashed into the water, blacking out. 

------------

"It's been fifteen minutes with no contact at all," Peter was saying. "Rachel can't find a trace of them psychically. We need to move now." 

Kurt came to a decision. "I agree. Kitty, take us up, head to their last reported position." As the craft lifted, a sharp buzzing filled the cabin. 

Rogue was speedily working controls. "Wolvie's beacon. About 25 miles west. He's moved about 8 miles south from last reported. Take us about two minutes to get there." 

Greg piped up. "I can get there faster." He looked nervous but game. 

Nightcrawler thought quickly. "Rogue, Colossus, you can take g-forces. Go ahead with Fortress, we'll be coming up behind." They crowded into the airlock as the Blackbird began accelerating. There was a bit of turbulence as they left the plane, then a quick rumble as the trio shot off toward the source of the distress signal. 

Greg kept a firm hold on the other two as he surged forward. In less than three seconds they were supersonic. He had them wrapped in a field shaped to minimize drag, but they were still putting out a heck of a shockwave. 

Less than a minute had passed since the beacon started. Two aircars were circling over a river in a mountain ravine; they were tossed about by the sonic boom as Greg overshot and looped back. Rogue detached and dived for the water, homing on Wolverine. Colossus called out "Fastball Special!" to Fortress as the aircars started firing on the new arrivals. 

Greg knew this drill. He hurled Colossus with all his might at one of the aircars, then circled behind the other, chopping at the engine with a forcefield axe. He'd thrown Peter badly and only clipped the first craft; but as it shot at him, a tossed boulder from below split the ship in two. Magistrates bailed in a cloud for the river below. 

By the time the Blackbird swooped onto the scene, Rogue was yanking the collar and restraints off an unconscious, half-drowned Wolverine, and Fortress and Colossus were tearing into the remaining, demoralized Magistrates, half of whom were still in the water. Phoenix telepathically blasted them all unconscious. 

Fortress hesitated, but when Nightcrawler repeated the order he went ahead and rescued the Magistrates in the river from drowning. Kitty and Rachel started working on Logan, who stirred after a few minutes. 

"Damn," he coughed, bringing up a little water. "Flamin' spleen always gives way when I take a hit like that. Hurts like hell 'til it heals." He continued more seriously. "They were waitin' for us. They've got Storm. We need to find her, fast, before they do to her what they did to Greg." 

------------

Three aircars came in hot to Hangar One of the Citadel. Hardishane and the Chief got out of theirs on one side, and several troops came out the other side carrying a bruised and unconscious Storm. "I told you people he was dangerous. If you weren't so fired up to start questioning them we'd have both of them here, sedated and safe." 

The Chief glared at Hardishane. "If you hadn't put Pipeline too close to the action, we wouldn't..." 

A man in a business suit broke in. "Where is the other subject? I have the lab ready, but I was told to expect two?" 

The Chief motioned Hardishane to be silent. "I'm sorry, Genegineer. He leaped from a moving aircar. We have two squads searching the area for him or his remains. Mr. Hardishane was adamant that we proceed." 

"Very well. Notify me the moment there's word. If he can heal himself, as you say, that would be a valuable addition to the Gene Pool." He bustled off with the troopers carrying Storm, just as another Magistrate came up and saluted. 

"Ma'am, squads Lima One and Five reported that they were under assault from multiple rogue mutes shortly after you separated from them. We haven't heard anything since." 

Hardishane was furious. "Cripes, you people couldn't run a birthday party, much less a security force!" He turned on the Chief. "That's why I was so 'adamant'. Your people let him get off a message. They've got backup here, on the island. This installation is going to be attacked, and soon." 

"We'll be ready. We have handled similar problems before." The Chief was already headed toward the elevators. "And now we'll see how well your organizational changes hold up." 

------------

Storm woke with a start; her pain had increased, but was now rapidly fading. The vacant face of a mutate hovered over her, working on her wounds. She tried to move, but she was very firmly restrained this time. In moments, she felt whole and refreshed... and very afraid. From what she could see, she was clothed in one of the suits the mutates wore. 

"Ah, you're awake. Excellent." A man moved into her field of view. "I must say, you're a fascinating case." He smiled, almost paternally. "What on Earth happened to you? It was difficult even determining what your powers had been. Wipeout blocks the function of the high-energy portions of a mutant's metabolism, but in your case the modifications were far more thorough." 

She stared. "Dr. Moreau, I presume." 

He looked startled. "You know me? Well, not surprising, I suppose. If you were coming here to look at mutants, naturally my name would come up." He turned back to his console. Technicians moved around the laboratory. "Well, you'll tell us all about it soon enough. On the bright side, I'm almost certain I can restore your powers. I think I've determined your old pattern, and we'll just reimpose it when we perform the resequencing." 

Storm felt crawling horror stir inside her. She'd wished for her powers back many times. _{Goddess, no, not like this!}_ "From what I've seen of your work, I don't think I'll be able to tell you much of anything." She looked pointedly at the mutate standing emptily next to her, trying to keep up a brave front. _{The others are coming for me, I know it!}_ she thought desperately. 

Moreau frowned. "Yes, the older process was rather crude, I admit. If the subject resisted, it did tend to produce... rather limited results." Again the paternal smile. "We've made many refinements, of course. You'll be quite happy, never fear." 

He began tapping at his controls. "Such versatility. Normally this would take longer, but I hardly need to do any power modifications in your case. You'll be useful militarily, of course, but we also won't have to worry about drought anymore. We can save so much money on irrigation systems..." 


	9. Heavy Assault

Chapter Eight - Heavy Assault

"In my case, they took my watch, and I wasn't exactly counting the minutes. But best I can figure I was held a couple hours before they tried to brainwash me," Greg was saying. "Of course, I don't think they took me seriously as a threat. They've got to know we've grabbed these schmucks." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the bound and snoozing Magistrates. 

The mutants had packed up several of their opponents and fled the scene of the battle, not wanting to waste time fighting whoever came to investigate. They were circling the island at a moderate distance, trying to figure out what to do next. 

"If they've got telepaths, they're unlikely to start with physical torture. Storm is tough, and she's been trained to resist psychic attacks. We should have a little time to prepare," Kurt said. "Phoenix, we need information about that Citadel. Floorplans, defenses, where prisoners are kept and processed." She moved to the captured soldiers, beginning the distasteful process of sifting their memories. 

"So, what are we gonna do after we rescue her?" Rogue asked. "We ain't just headin' home to forget about 'em." 

Logan was regaining his strength fast. "One way or another, this country is goin' down." 

"I say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit. It's the only way to be sure," Greg quoted darkly. 

"We will not be doing that. I'm sure not everyone here supports this regime," Kurt said firmly. 

"Besides, can you imagine anything that would inflame anti-mutant passions worldwide more than a slaughter like that, or even just forcibly overthrowing the government of a sovereign nation?" Kitty noted, looking up from her examination of the collars they'd found in one of the Magistrates packs, twins of the one that had been on Logan. She'd discovered and immediately unhooked a tracking beacon long ago. 

"If people had known what Hitler was doing, seen what he was planning, they would have stopped him," Peter said firmly. "We have to tell the world what is going on here." 

"Why?" Greg asked cynically. "So they can copy it? Once they know it's possible, governments all over the world will start a mutant arms race." 

"Our whole existence is based on the idea that mutants and humans can exist together peacefully," Kurt replied. "I think we have to give people the benefit of the doubt." 

Phoenix looked up. "I think I got everything. This isn't going to be easy." She began broadcasting the information she'd gleaned to the rest of the team. 

------------

The Citadel didn't look quite as modern as it normally appeared; the dark, ominous clouds blocked the sunlight that gave it the metallic sheen the architects had envisioned. There was less bustle and traffic in the area, since they were on high alert. 

Trouble appeared very quickly. An enormous, drawn-out sonic boom set a dozen city blocks to rattling as Fortress whirled for a few high-speed laps around the headquarters. As this was going on, Rogue flashed in, only a little slower, carrying Colossus. They smashed through a hangar door over thirty stories up, and began an all-out assault on the troops milling there. 

Greg took a position over the top of Citadel as the Blackbird swooped in out of the clouds. He knocked a few gunships out of the sky as Rachel telekinetically carried the others to the hole Rogue and Colossus had made. As the Blackbird shot away on automatic pilot, Fortress followed them in. 

The Magistrates were fighting valiantly but just didn't have the numbers to handle that many X-Men. It didn't take long before the mutants had made something of a beachhead in the hangar. They continued with the plan they'd agreed upon. With the information Rachel had gathered, they knew the Citadel as well as the troops they'd captured had known it. It was most likely that Storm would be in the holding and interrogation center on the 40th floor. But there was a chance she'd be moved to the Genegineer's lab on 23. 

Phoenix and Colossus took point, with Wolverine and Nightcrawler behind. Fortress and Rogue were the rearguard. The hangar was on the 34th floor, and had seemed the best place to break in. The main group started working their way up the floors to the cells. But Shadowcat headed in the opposite direction, down towards the lab. 

They hoped that she would go largely unnoticed with all the commotion from the main force. But she could move through the building faster than anyone, and could quite probably destroy most of the laboratory by herself. (She caused violent short-circuits in any electronics she phased through.) Speed and stealth were her best allies. The building was damped against psychic contact, but their Shi'ar communications devices were able to work through almost any Earthly interference. 

The first few floors went quickly. Greg's shields seemed adequate to block any of the weapons the Magistrates were using; Phoenix's TK easily tore holes so they could move up. Kurt and Logan grabbed guns from a few hapless troops and were providing covering fire. 

Floor 37 was a trap, however. As they emerged from the floor into a hall, a swift series of light-flashes created Magistrate squads in all four directions, who immediately began opening fire. Phoenix got a telekinetic shield up in two directions, and Colossus pulled up the metal floor into a shield. Nightcrawler was slightly clipped by an energy bolt before a surprised Fortress could cover his side. 

"Damn, this is Hardishane's style!" Logan called out. "We don't want to stay here and let them bring up more reinforcements." He fired his weapon with quick accuracy, but more Magistrates were appearing in rapid flashes. 

Kurt saw that Rachel was busy in two directions. "Rogue, Colossus, another wall there. Fortress, make us an exit up there!" he ordered as he kept firing at troops to the north. The two powerhouses quickly bent up the floor in Fortress' direction so he would be free to act. 

Greg sliced a chunk out of the ceiling and flipped it up into the hallway above. He floated up into the hole, carefully, looking for trouble. Below, all they saw was a flash of orange, all they heard was a thunderous **WHOOM**. Greg was gone. Rogue cried out, but all of them had to duck as the surrounding Magistrates redoubled their attacks. Colossus was getting ready to leap up to the next floor when a tall woman with reddish hair looked down. She raised her hands and, with another **WHOOM**, a blast of orange energy punched Colossus down three floors. 

The rate of fire slowed a bit, as Magistrates stopped to reload. Phoenix whirled, drew a bead, and lashed out at the woman with a telepathic shock-bolt. 

Then she screamed; a spastic blast of telekinesis scattered the X-Men. Two Magistrates grinned; the weapon they carried absorbed, amplified, and retransmitted telepathic frequencies, creating crippling feedback to any psychic within range. Rachel was stunned unconscious. 

Nightcrawler rolled over from where he'd landed. "Rogue, groundshaker above! Wolverine, go after Colossus!" Logan jumped down the hole the giant Russian had made going down, as Kurt teleported over to Rachel. 

Radian was happy. She was so glad to be helping protect her country. Once, long ago, she had tried to run from her duty, but they had brought her back and showed her the error of her ways. Now she was a valued member of the Press Gang, helping to punish others who might try to stray. She raised her hands again; the demon and the psychic weren't tough like the other two, they'd be easy to kill. 

Then Rogue slammed into the floor right beneath her feet. Radian went flying, pitching into the hole Fortress had cut. Nightcrawler punched her unconscious as she fell, then quickly 'ported himself and the stunned Phoenix upstairs. Rogue burst through the floor on her second hit, and began frantically looking for Greg. 

There was a hole in the west wall, and another beyond that. Greg had been knocked a good distance by the blast, assuming he was at the end of that new-formed tunnel. "Rogue, get us through that wall!" Kurt pointed out a solid-looking bulkhead to the east as he got off some shots at a flying mutate coming down the hall. Magistrates were drawing a bead on them from the other side. 

It took a couple hits, but Rogue had an entrance made quickly, and carried Phoenix in while Kurt covered them, then jumped in himself. "Seal that door!" he told Rogue as he knelt, sending quick sniping shots out the hole she'd made, keeping their opponents at bay. Rogue worked quickly, folding metal with her hands, both of them sparing quick glances at Rachel, trying to determine how badly, or at least how, she'd been hurt. 

Greg hadn't quite been knocked out, but he was stunned for a few moments. He took stock, realizing he was half-embedded in a metal wall. He pried himself out and knelt on the floor, holding his chest and wheezing. He'd had the wind knocked out of him; he hurt, and he could count on one hand the number of times that had happened since his powers manifested at puberty. 

_{Cripes,}_ he scolded himself; _{better get used to pain again if I'm gonna hang out with the X-Men. At least I think I'm okay.}_. Greg looked up in time to see Magistrates and a large, muscular black woman coming up. 

"Hold it right there, genejoke!" an officer called, but two of the troopers opened fire as Greg stood up. He was knocked back a bit, but he wasn't too bothered by the energy rifles. He turned to fly back down the path he'd made, but the woman was faster than he'd expected and smashed into his back with a two-fisted blow, knocking him through another wall. 

_{This is getting old,}_ Greg thought. He rolled over, and 'flew' low to the ground, putting some distance between him and the advancing mutate. 

"Got some payback for you, kid. You hurt my buddy Brick pretty bad when you were here. Now he's just working the docks!" At the last word she swung again, but Fortress shot up over her head back toward the hole he'd come through. 

She jumped and grabbed onto his leg. "Can't run from Punchout like that!" she cried, twisting herself up into a kick at a normally sensitive part of a man's anatomy. Greg wasn't naturally fast, but a couple months of sparring with Wolverine tended to make everyone else look like they were fighting in slow motion. Her kick missed, and Fortress raked his knuckles across her face, dislodging her. In an instant Greg was gone down the trail of destruction Radian had sent him along. 

------------

"Skybreaker, I don't care how fast they are, engage!" Hardishane momentarily regretted that flying mutants were so rare in Genosha. They were called, without any apparent irony, a 'flight risk'. Only two mutates in all of Genosha could fly. (There had been three, but after the forcefield mutant had escaped one made a break for the mainland and had been shot down.) 

He looked at the officers nearby. "At least we know what their powers are. As I predicted," and he shot a glance at the Chief, "we didn't have time to get any more information. But so far, aside from the time of their assault we haven't seen any surprises." He looked at his status board. 

"Damn it, get those troops moving!" he bellowed. "And find the girl, the one who can pass through walls. She's got to be headed toward the lab." Techs leaned closer to their consoles, trying not to draw any attention. 

"You got that damn plane yet?" he braced an unfortunate operator. 

"It passed overhead and dropped them off. I think it's circling the city, but it's so hard to track." Forgetting who he was talking to, he got lost in the technical problem. "If it didn't show up visually I'd swear it didn't exist. But with this overcast we can't..." 

"Shut up. Just find it," the mercenary interrupted. "I want it shot down before they try to retreat." He turned to the other bank of consoles. "Where's the girl?" 

"Got her, sir. Moving south and down, between 29 and 28. Shorting out stuff all the way. Orders?" 

He thought a moment. "Have Pipeline get the second group and at least a squad to floor 25 now. Give 'em updates as to position, I want them waiting for her. Get her alive, if it's not too hard, but stop her." 

He stalked over to the other command area. "I think it's time to hit them where it hurts. Get 4705 over to the main group. That oughta surprise 'em." The colonel next to him was glad that smile wasn't directed her way. 

------------

Kitty emerged from a wall into a storage room. An armed party of Magistrates was waiting, along with two men. Both had mustaches, but one was older and dressed conventionally; the other was younger, with a wary look and many weapons arrayed on his person. The older man raised his hand; a flash of light, and Kitty felt herself go solid against her will. And all her will could not make her phase again. _{So this is Wipeout,}_ she thought. 

The younger man approached her confidently. "Okay, little lady, come along quietly and I won't have to hurt you." He reached for her arm. 

She dropped low, her leg sweeping him off his feet; as he fell she plucked the knife from his belt and smoothly launched it at the squad leader by the door; he ducked frantically, his squadmates shuffling in confusion. 

Hawkshaw rolled and came up swinging. _{Oh no, some teenybopper did not just do that to me!}_ he thought furiously. He was naturally quick and balanced, he had trained for years with the best, and the enhanced senses that gave him his nom de guerre usually let him intuit, animallike, what an enemy was about to do. He was embarrassed, but he knew this little scuffle would be over quickly. 

Nor was he wrong. His roundhouse missed; a dainty hand chopped across his windpipe, gagging him; she dipped gracefully under his guard and an elbow jammed into his gut with the force of a crowbar. _{Crap, I can't breathe, I have to...}_ Hawkshaw thought. He didn't get any further; a sweeping kick to his head hurled him, already unconscious, into a wall. 

------------

Fortress popped out into the central hall, and was met with a barrage of gunfire. He couldn't see into the side room the X-Men were holed up in, but it was pretty clear that was where they were. Anyone who wasn't shooting at him was shooting at the gap in the wall. He lashed out with some knives of force, and nearly a full company of Magistrates dropped down a level as the floor was cut out from under them. Greg zipped over their heads and into the makeshift bunker, slapping a forcefield across the opening. 

Rogue gave him a relieved smile, which he returned. She was using the rifle, now almost empty. Kurt, not being invulnerable, had given her the weapon and moved himself and Rachel to a protected position. She was moaning in pain, holding her head, but was slowly coming to. 

"You guys okay?" he asked. "Where's Wolv..." The door Rogue had sealed exploded in a flash of light and a **CRACK** of thunder. 

------------

Once upon a time, in ancient Japan, there had been a samurai ninja named Ogun. He had been an exceptional warrior by any standard. But he twisted the psychic and mystical disciplines he had learned in a demented bid for immortality. He found a way to impress a copy of his psyche, his mind, onto another. Versions of him had survived down the centuries, gaining experience with each lifetime. 

At one time he'd considered Wolverine as his next vessel, but had settled on Shadowcat instead. Why choose someone who could heal damage when a body was available that could not be damaged at all? With Logan's help, Kitty had won an epic battle for her own soul. She was herself, but the memories and experience of a master warrior could not truly be excised. 

It was dangerous to draw upon those skills; Ogun's personality was wrapped up in them, and sometimes threatened to reemerge. In a situation like this, however, they sure came in handy. Shadowcat charged the squad by the door. The last one was knocked out before the first had stopped rolling bonelessly across the floor. 

_{Just like Kyoto,}_ Ogun thought with satisfaction. _{No! I'm Kate Pryde! Kate!}_ Kitty willed, damping the alien reminicences before they could gain purchase. She stood for a moment, panting, turning to glance at Wipeout. 

He was staring at her, gaping, almost superstitious dread washing over him. Even though it was fading, the strange, ageless look in the girl's eyes frightened him badly. _{Drat,}_ Shadowcat thought, taking in his tall frame and middle-aged spread. _{No way I can carry him out of here.}_

"Okay, chum, what say you fix my powers before I get testy?" she said lightly. Wipeout nodded mutely, and a flash of light freed her mutant ability. She walked up to him, smiled, said "Thank you," and squeezed the back of his neck. 

Shadowcat guided the stunned man's body to a safe landing. The nerve pinch she'd given him would keep him out for at least a day, probably two or three. She looked around with satisfaction at all the sleeping opponents. 

A rumble of thunder echoed from above and down the corridors. _{That sounds like Storm!}_ she thought, shocked. Shadowcat quickly phased through the ceiling, headed back toward the chaos she could hear even this many floors away. 

------------

Greg put up a second field across where the door had been a few moments before. A mutate was hovering outside (Fortress had cut out a lot of floor). An African woman, bald and clad in a skinsuit, eyes of pure white, no pupils at all. Greg finally realized why the other mutants were just staring in shock; it was Storm. 

Tornado-force winds slammed into his fields; lightning shot from her hands, bursting against the curtains of energy with terrible force. The noise was deafening. _{Holy... I never imagined she had been this strong!}_ A full hurricane raged just outside the room, rain and all. 

------------

Shadowcat emerged from the floor into a raging firefight. Colossus was tossing Magistrates and chunks of debris around, but he was also getting hammered from multiple directions by all sorts of weapons. Wolverine was a blur of movement, cutting down troops left and right, but there were so many opponents even he had been clipped a few times. More troops appeared at the end of a hall with a sadly familiar flash of light. 

"Hey, guys, grab on! Let's get out of here!" she called. Colossus shook off a few pursuers and put himself between her and the oncoming Magistrates. A few whirls and a prodigious leap and Wolverine joined her, too. Shielded by Colossus' massive armored form, she became solid, grabbed both teammates, and phased the whole group, pulling them up into the ceiling. 

She was very near tears. Still hoping, but rainwater was dripping through the holes in the ceiling. _{Maybe they've got some kind of water mutant...}_ she prayed. 

------------

Of course Pipeline didn't literally convert people to data and transmit them. No data line on Earth could transmit that kind of information, even compressed, in less than several weeks. But the story was a simple way to explain to people why the computer link was necessary. 

In reality, he needed to synchronize time between source and destination within a few milliseconds. His power could interface with computers to that extent, following a timed series of pulses along wires, fiber optics, even over a satellite link. All he required was that sequence of pings going back and forth, then he could bridge space and teleport dozens of people at once. Of course nearly every hall in the Citadel had been hooked up with the minimal circuitry that allowed him to get troops right where they were needed. 

But he couldn't teleport himself, and even if he could have, most of the terminals had been wrecked on the floors the mutants had been. So here he was, humping himself up a dozen flights of stairs, flanked by a squad of Magistrate protectors. _{I hope Hardishane knows what he's doing!}_

------------

Shadowcat and the others came up into level 37, and instantly plunged into a maelstrom. Fortress and Rogue were circling, trying to approach the cruelly transformed Storm, but they couldn't get close. A micro-tornado slammed Rogue through a wall, and a blast of lightning exploded against Greg's shield, hurling him, stunned, down into the trench he'd cut. 

No one could speak over the roaring of the storm, but Logan used hand signals to indicate that Colossus should try to hurl him toward her as Kitty worked to distract their former teammate. Shadowcat moved quickly, far less bothered by the winds and rain in her incorporeal state. Storm saw her coming and dodged. But as Wolverine rocketed toward her, propelled by Peter's powerful muscles, she flipped in the air and a blast of wind sent Wolverine, helpless, sliding down a hall. 

As he worked to get up, the temperature suddenly plunged. He had been in almost tropical heat, and now it was approaching the cold of an Arctic winter. He could see frost spreading fast across the floor and walls, almost like a cartoon of freezing. _{Gotta get out of here, fast, while I still can... if I still can.}_ His muscles were cramping up from the sudden change; he was pretty sure he was already starting to get frostbite. 

Phoenix was awake. Her head ached like it had been split open, and her mental senses were raw and unfocused, but her telekinesis seemed to work. She was using it to shield herself and Nightcrawler, who unfortunately was now unconscious himself. Storm had focused on him as soon as she'd broken into their room, knowing he was the leader. Rachel was still too unsure of her control to manage a counterattack; the bellowing thunder and flashes of lightning sent pulses of agony across her forehead. 

Shadowcat was feeling less confident now about how much phasing could protect her from Storm. She did have some interface with the world, even when phasing; she had to breathe, after all. But Storm had dropped the air pressure around her dramatically, and what air remained was bitterly cold. _{It's like I'm on top of Mount Everest,}_ she thought, while gasping, shivering, and retreating. 

At the same time she was hurling lightning at Colossus, repeated blasts that forced him back and kept him from any counterattack. Most of the electricity stayed on the outside of his metal skin, but it still acted to disrupt the matrices of energy that formed Peter's nervous system in his armored form. Fortress pulled back up from where he had crashed, but another squad of Magistrates burst out of a stairwell at the end of the last surviving hallway and opened fire. He got a shield up, trying to keep an eye both on them and on Storm. He noticed it had gotten downright hot. 

Rogue flew out of the hole she'd made, straight at Storm's back. _{If Ah absorb her, we can get her out and try to fix her up later.}_ Her face was twisted in rage at what Genosha had done; Storm had been a very good friend to her. _{Besides, Ah'd like to use those powers on these Magistrates...}_

Her 'seventh-sense' flashed a warning, but she hesitated a split-second, not wanting to hurt her friend. Storm didn't pause for a moment as she whirled and blasted Rogue with a close-range, full-force bolt of lightning. The roar of thunder was brutal in the confined space, hitting even the Magistrates with almost physical force. 

Rogue was knocked unconcious and tossed like a rag-doll down the hall toward the Magistrates. Greg cried out and tried to reach her, but this time the sickeningly familiar flash of light caused Rogue to disappear, instead of heralding the arrival of more troops. 

Fortress, Storm forgotten, smashed into the squad of Magistrates, scattering them like toys. He grabbed onto Pipeline, whose eyes had flashed as Rogue vanished. Greg's skin had turned silvery; he looked to the mutate like a menacing fluid-metal statue. Pipeline had no way of knowing what the X-Men had learned - that usually meant that Greg was extremely pissed off - but he could hardly have been more intimidated. 

"Bring her back NOW!" Greg yelled, holding Pipeline close to his face. 

"Can't... Security... Link... goes... down..." He could barely breathe; his hands clawed at the silvery arm with no effect. 

Kurt was waking up, which filled Rachel with relief. She wasn't sure how much longer she could hold up against Storm's assault. Phoenix didn't dare try more than a passive scan, but she thought she could sense troops approaching even through the telepathic dampers - and that meant a lot of troops. 

Kitty phased into the bubble Phoenix maintaned, gasping for air. "This isn't... working... we have to... get out!" she called between breaths. Colossus had grabbed some discarded weapons and was trying to stun Ororo, but she was too quick and he was drawing fire from more squads that seemed to be pouring in a wave from the stairwells. Then a flash flood swept him off his feet. 

Nightcrawler had come to and was rapidly appraising the situation. _{With these winds, even if I teleport to her I'd be swept away before I could do anything,}_ he thought. _{Kitty's right. We have to retreat.}_ It pained him to do it, but he triggered the 'abort' signal on their comlinks. 

Kitty went on a quick sortie to retrieve Wolverine, who was fighting too many approching Magistrates. Colossus clawed his way up to the others. When the signal came to Greg, he was dumbfounded, and whirled to glare toward Nightcrawler down the hall. _{We can't just leave Rogue!}_ he thought furiously. His grip involuntarily tightened slightly on Pipeline; the poor mutate's eyes bugged as his larynx came close to collapse. 

The Magistrates had been clubbing at Fortress with no effect, not daring to try anything stronger with Pipeline so close. But with Greg distracted, one enterprising trooper jammed his rifle into the back of his head and pulled the trigger. 

The gun exploded from the feedback, almost killing the Magistrate and several of his companions. But the burst shoved Fortress down the hall and dislodged Pipeline from his grasp. Storm, giving up for the moment on the others, took the opportunity to hammer Greg a few times with wind and lightning. 

"Phoenix, get the others out of here!" Kurt called, then he squinted at Fortress. Storm paused for just a moment; she'd been running on all cylinders for a while now, and was getting a bit tired. That was what Nightcrawler had been waiting for. **BAMF** he was next to Greg, and **BAMF** they were both gone. When Storm whirled to look at the others, all she saw were Colossus's boots disappearing out a hole in the outside wall; Phoenix was carrying them away. 


	10. Bright Ideas

Chapter Nine - Bright Ideas

Nightcrawler and Fortress appeared outside the Citadel in midair. Greg felt sick and disoriented (a side effect of the teleport) but instinctively started flying, as Kurt had counted on. It was raining now outside, and flashes of lightning illuminated the darkened city. 

Fortress grabbed onto Nightcrawler and shouted over the storm, "We're going back! I'm not leaving her!" 

Kurt looked Fortress in the eye. "Listen! She may not even be here anymore! We have to fall back or they'll just pick off more of us! You can't help her by being captured yourself!" 

Greg glared at him for a moment, then silently conceded the point. He saw Phoenix pulling the others up over the Citadel to meet the descending Blackbird, and headed to join them. The other X-Men were boarding the plane when Storm flew out of the Citadel in pursuit, as other gunships began to converge. 

Fortress terminated a few of the ships with extreme prejudice as the Blackbird shot away, fighting the turbulence Storm generated. She tried a few shots at Greg before he retreated, but with plenty of room to maneuver he was too quick to hit. Although fast, Storm couldn't break the sound barrier, and the Blackbird and Fortress were soon lost to view. 

------------

"They underestimated us, but we underestimated them, too," the Chief said. "They should never have been able to get away." 

"Well, your people didn't get that jet of theirs shot down, and why the hell did you brew up that storm outside?" Hardishane glared at 4705. 

"I am sorry, sir," 4705 said disconsolately. "The weather reflects my emotions, and I wanted so much to please you, to catch them..." she looked like she was about to cry. The rain beat harder on the windows. 

"Oh, calm down, you did well." 4705 looked up, smiling at the praise. The rain immediately slacked off. "Can you tell us what they're likely to do now?" 

"I... I am not sure. They will not wish to abandon me or Rogue; they will return. But I do not know how soon. After such a defeat, they may go back for reinforcements. I simply cannot say." Again, she seemed upset that she couldn't fulfill his request. 

The comlink beeped. "Hello, Chief Magistrate here," she said as she hit the acknowledge button. 

"If you are through with 4705, I really need to consult with her. The readings I'm getting from this new mutant are extremely confusing." The Genegineer sounded frustrated. 

The Chief and Hardishane regarded each other for a moment. "I suppose we've debriefed you enough for now. If they come back quickly, we need to prepare now. If not, we'll have time to get more information out of you." Hardishane sounded reluctant to let her go. 

"When the Genegineer is through with you, head to engineering. They haven't been able to make sense of your communications equipment." 

"I will help them as much as I can," 4705 promised. She headed out the room and down the elevator to the Genegineer's lab. No guards accompanied her; none were needed. 4705 was completely loyal to her superiors and Genosha now. 

As she entered, she spared a brief glance at the girl strapped to the examining table. She had been fitted with a skinsuit and a damping collar before awakening, of course. 4705 was just checking to make sure she was secure. She didn't want the Genegineer getting hurt in any escape attempt. 

She came up and waited deferentially for Moreau to acknowledge her. "Ah, 4705. There's something very odd about her. What can you tell me about her powers?" 

"Storm, fight them! They can't have changed you this much!" Rogue had been staring aghast at her obsequious manner. Rogue had awoken already bound and collared, but even that hadn't been as horrible as seeing her friend fawn over the man who had brainwashed her. 

She was ignored. 4705 was thrilled to be able to help. "Her primary power is to absorb the powers and memories of others, by physical contact. It's normally temporary, but in one case, that of Ms. Marvel, it was permanent. I think you may be having trouble because Mr. Marvel was, in fact, part alien." 

"Alien? You mean, truly extraterrestrial?" 4705 nodded. "That would explain a few things. Her DNA is still fundamentally human; mutated, of course, but comprehensible. However, her metabolism and cell structure is certainly odd enough to be alien. This molecule, for example," as he indicated a display, "might be a hormone, or an antigen, or possibly even a waste product. I simply can't tell." 

"Get this collar off me an' Ah'll show you some waste products," Rogue muttered darkly. 

He frowned, examining his readouts. "I'm not confident my normal techniques would work in this case. But I think I can 'reset' her powers, erase this current template and start her off from scratch. I'd need to find a way to erase those memories anyway; the conversion process isn't set up for multiple personalities. Look at those tangled brainwaves." 

Carol's consciousness sat alongside Rogue's inside their head. It was difficult sometimes to separate the personalities, but they had reached a detente of sorts. Still, Carol had always nursed a hope that somehow she would find a way out of this foreign body she was trapped in, somehow get a chance to have a normal, separate life. She found she was terrified at the thought of being erased, and she was furious at the thread of hope she saw in Rogue's emotions, even diluted by the fear, dread and horror of the situation. 

------------

"They underestimated us, but we underestimated them, too," Nightcrawler said. "Apparently they've improved their conversion technology, and they were better-coordinated than we imagined." 

"That's putting it mildly," Kitty said darkly, glaring at the now-conscious Magistrates. They were still restrained, of course, but Phoenix couldn't yet spare the attention to keep them asleep. She was recovering, though. 

"Hardishane was all about control. He was my handler for a while. He would have set up an armored command center, and run the show from there." Logan frowned ruefully. "Gotta admit, they got us good. Storm probably told them just how to do it." 

"We don't have a lot of time to save Storm," Rachel said. "Her mind... they killed all her old emotions, and implanted new ones, submission and loyalty to them. She remembers us, but she doesn't care. We might as well be strangers to her." She looked away, almost crying. "I've... seen it before." 

The others exchanged glances. The future Rachel had come from was a horrifying repeat of the Holocaust, with mutants rounded up and pitilessly exterminated. Rachel refused to tell them much about her personal history, though. She was too ashamed of her survival, and what she had done to secure it. 

"They haven't developed it as far," Rachel continued, trying to gather her self-control. "Memories and emotions are tied together, and her old life isn't important to her anymore, so she doesn't remember it well. Like a class she was forced to take. In my time, the hounds... the victims remembered everything, and used it against you." She seemed lost in reverie; Kitty thought she looked, for the first time she'd ever seen, like the frightened little girl she once must have been. 

Rachel came back to the present. "The new emotions haven't fully 'set' yet. And the old ones are blocked, not totally erased. I think I could bring her back, if we did it fast. Another day or two and Storm as we know her will be gone, even the Professor couldn't help." She looked at the rest, speaking passionately. "But no matter what, we have to stop these bastards. The collars, this conversion technology... it's all part of my time. They'll get better, stronger, more irresistible. We've got to stop them now, before... before it happens again." 

Nightcrawler felt like the universe was pressing on his shoulders. _{I never thought the 'weight of command' was more than a metaphor. Please, God, help me find a way! Make me equal to this task!}_ He looked at Wolverine, desperately trying to come up with a plan that didn't involve sacrificing two of his closest friends. "Can you infiltrate that fortress, and attack the command center from the inside? That would give us a window..." 

Logan was shaking his head. "No way, Elf. Hardishane knows me too well. If he wasn't lookin' for me, I could probably do it, but not when he's expectin' me." 

"I could try. He doesn't know me." Shadowcat looked on Storm almost as a second mother. "Even if Rogue isn't in the Citadel, destroying that lab would keep them from converting her for a while." 

"You're damn sneaky, 'Cat, and no mistake." Wolverine sounded more grim than usual. "But this takes world-class skill. It'd take, what, half an hour to work your way in? You can't be Ogun that long. Not and come back again." He grimaced. "Besides, they've got mutant-detectors all over the place. Storm could get by 'em with her powers suppressed, but she's back to full strength and she ain't workin' for us anymore. None of us can creep in there undetected." 

"We can't take 'em head-on, not with what we have here, and them being coordinated like that. We gotta head home, get reinforcements, and come back in force. Goin' at that base now, with their command and control intact, is suicide. It won't do Storm or Rogue any good. And you heard Phoenix, it's more than them at stake." 

Nightcrawler grimaced. "So we return to fight both Storm and a brainwashed Rogue, with little hope they can ever be restored, along with a fully-recovered and prepared Genoshan army." 

Phoenix had seen Wolverine go berserk before. It was a daunting experience for a telepath to witness that kind of overwhelming rage; it was like his mind blazed with bright red fury. Everything burned away but a need to cut, to rend, to destroy. Over many years Logan had learned to contain that anger, and direct it; but it was a tenuous, hard-won control. 

That red light had started to show in Greg's emotions as soon as he'd realized that Rogue had been captured. It had been simmering, and now flared up into a crimson wave at the mention of Rogue's peril. She momentarily wondered if they would be able to hold him back before he threw himself into a hopeless assault on the entire Magistrate corps. 

But Rachel quickly sensed that this fury was different; it was as terrible in its own way, but it had focus. Where Wolverine was a fiery star, Fortress was a coherent laser. His mind was difficult to read at the best of times, but she thought that she'd have trouble following the whirling tornado his thoughts had become, even without the field. Kitty was like that sometimes, when working on a complicated technical problem. 

Greg spoke slowly and deliberately. He sounded almost calm, but even the Magistrate prisoners felt a chill as he began. "I have a suggestion..." 


	11. Subtle Maneuvers

Chapter Ten - Subtle Maneuvers

Each person in the command room was intently examining the screens before them, Hardishane included. "They've probably gone for backup," he called out over his shoulder. "But if they're stupid enough to try another assault, they will try to sneak a scout in here, and that's going to be Wolverine." 

A menacing tone entered his voice. "If anyone misses him, I'll kill them myself, if by some miracle he doesn't." Silence greeted this pronouncement; part of Hardishane's agreement gave him rather broad authority while he remained. It was just possible he would be able to make that stick. He ignored the Chief Magistrate's glower. 

"Sir," a woman called out from a few chairs down, "I've got... something. A weak signal from a mutie-detector. Inside the complex." She frowned and tapped at her keyboard. "Tuning... yes, there's definitely something there. Red sector, near the hangars." 

Hardishane walked up behind her. "What do you see, people? Get the cameras looking up and down, too - he's not going to be strolling down the hallways." 

The tech at the next console called out. "I think I spotted him for a second, sir. Here's the playback..." A scene played out at half speed on his monitor. A camera kept watch at a blast door, turning back and forth. A flicker of movement came in from above; a hand in a brown glove. It vanished just as quickly. 

"Bingo, that's his get-up." Hardishane paused, thinking. "Taking the long route, eh? Figured I'd be watching the better ones?" He came to a decision. "All right, first thing, everyone else keep looking. This might be a diversion. None of the rest can be as good as he is, though." 

He spoke into a comlink. "Skybreaker, get down to Hangar 6 right now. Move your ass. And someone send a team to check out that blast door. You, over there. Hook me up with the nearest company to H6." A pause as the link was established. "Who am I speaking to?" 

"Lieutenant Hugh Mallory, Echo Company," the officer replied crisply. 

"Fine; get everyone moving to H4 as we talk. Mallory, who's your best shot with the energy rifles?" 

"That'd be Corporal Patty Bryce, sir. She's Marksman level A." 

"Good. She's to proceed to H6, and meet Skybreaker there. Further orders will follow." He turned to the command team. "Okay, by now he should be passing the supply depot. He's going to have to cross on the rafters. Who's got a camera that can see there?" Hardishane had returned to his seat. 

"Sir, over here, sir." 

"Good, patch in to my display, I want a look at him. You, any change in that genejoke's signal? Why didn't we pick him up before?" 

The tech replied, nervously, "I'm not sure, sir. The signature's still weak. Almost no mutie patterns." 

"Wait, there he is." The view was far from perfect, but at one point they had a very clear outline. Wolverine's costume, with the arching, almost wolflike points on the sides of the head, was unmistakable. Silvery claws silently cut an opening though a panel so he could move to the next girder. "Aha! See that? He's got a damping collar on. They must've pulled the tracker out of it. Smart." He grinned. "But, of course, it just makes him easier to kill." 

"Skybreaker here. I've met Bryce; awaiting orders." The report came over the comlink, all business. 

"Look up, by the northwest corner. There's an intake vent, next to the ledge. Get her up there." 

"On my way." A pause as the mutate began flying, then the reply came back. "Oh, I see it now. The light puts out a lot of glare, you can't really see it from the ground." 

"That's the idea. And the vent will suck away her scent. Corporal, are you positioned?" Hardishane asked. 

"Yes, sir, Command." 

"Skybreaker, get out of there now. Bryce, look down, by the side door. You see that crate there?" 

"Affirmative." 

"Okay, line up your rifle, and set up a shot just to the left of that crate. He'll have to pass by there to get to the serviceway. Do not move, do not even breathe, do not adjust the gun to line up with him. Let him move into your sights. And crank up the power, maximum output." 

The Chief Magistrate had been quietly watching, but now she broke in, appalled. "That's the antitank setting! You'll vaporize him!" 

"I'm not taking any chances with this S.O.B. Maybe the Genengineer can clone him from the remnants or something." A frown as he inspected a playback. "He's moving pretty fast and clumsy, taking chances. They must be desperate. Or he's just not used to normal senses." An indicator beeped on Hardishane's console. "Command here." 

"Sir, we're by the blast door. Can you see this?" A head-mounted camera looked up over the metal framework; the four-inch-thick wall had a neat hole sliced out, just big enough for a person to slip through. 

Hardishane motioned to the Chief. "That's why we're not taking chances. Those claws can cut through damn near anything." He checked his watch. "Any sign of anyone else? They might be wearing collars, too, you know. No other 'weak signals'?" Silence greeted him. "That freak's their best bet, and they know it. All right, radio silence from here on, he should be getting to H6 right about now." A pause. "Echo Company, be ready to move in." 

Eyes intent on displays, stillness descended upon the command center. Hardishane watched through the sniper's helmet camera. A flicker of movement as a dark outline dropped from the ceiling behind an airship. Then only shadows, until a ripple slid against the wall. It vanished behind the crate, and then eased out towards the service trench... 

A couple of techs jumped as the **CRACK-BOOM** of the energy rifle echoed out of several consoles. Hardishane's screen flared white and struggled to readjust its gain. 

"Got him!" the Magistrate crowed. "Can you see that, Command? I love these guns!" Clouds of dust drifted everywhere; through the haze the cameras showed a ten-foot hole in the wall Wolverine had been crouching next to. 

A slow-motion playback on a display in front of Hardishane detailed the entire sequence. A dim outline of Wolverine, frozen; then a glowing flicker on his chest; then a flash of blinding light that made the camera white-out; and finally an expanding fireball. There was no room for doubt; the hit was dead-on, center body mass. 

_{Heal that, freak!}_, Hardishane smiled. "Good work, Corporal. Echo, move in for clean-up. I want what's left of him. There are people who will pay a bundle for a souvenir piece of that skeleton. Hell, I want one." 

He turned and addressed the command center. "Okay, people, their scout is history. Sooner or later, the rest are going to have to hit us. My bet is on sooner - if they were going for backup they wouldn't have sent him in. I want to know about it the moment it..." 

"Command! Command! He's still there! He's moving!" The shrill note of terror in the corporal's voice carried even over the comlink. All color drained from Hardishane's face as he whirled, staring openmouthed at his bank of screens. 

The outline drifted through the settling dust, scraps of still-burning costume hanging from his unmarked chest. He floated unsupported for a moment, then raised his hands. Sonic booms shattered glass throughout the hangar as spears of force tore into the approaching squads. The screens on Hardishane's board collapsed into static, the cameras feeding them ruined. 

The mutant proximity alarm blared. He had dropped to the floor and pulled out his sidearm before his mind consciously registered that there were gunshots and screams in the command center. 

Dazed, he stared as the Chief Magistrate struggled and fell. A whirling figure, moving so fast he blurred, slashed adamantium claws through computers, viewscreens, and consoles. The costume was all wrong, it was that forcefield punk's, but there was no doubt who it was inside. 

Wolverine finished his streak of destruction, and turned to face the gaping Hardishane, tossing a damping collar over his shoulder. They were the only two left standing. "Gotta hand it to that kid. No way I coulda snuck in here with you lookin' for me." He smiled, and Hardishane nearly emptied his bladder. "But if you'd already found me..." 

Hardishane whipped up his blaster, trying for a shot, knowing it was already too late. 

------------

Kurt and the others surveyed the Magistrate headquarters from the same office Storm and Logan had used. All wearing collars, they had crept as close at they dared to the citadel. This was the go/no go point. If Fortress and Wolverine failed, they would make their way back to the Blackbird and call up every reserve they could find. 

Rachel was squeezing the windowsill to keep her hands from trembling. _{I swore I'd never wear a collar again...}_. She worked to forget the images she'd seen in the Magstrates' minds as she'd pulled the floorplans of the citadel from them. They reminded her too much of home. "How long has it been?" 

Peter checked. "Twenty-five minutes." He didn't add that there were only ten minutes left to get the 'go' signal from Wolverine. 

There came a rumbling from inside the building. Tension filled the quartet of mutants; Kitty fingered the release that would pop off her collar. "Something's happening." A series of muffled explosions came next. "Must be big." 

"Sounds like they moved on Greg. Hope he's okay." Rachel stared intently at the forbidding building just ahead. Suddenly, there was a flicker around part of an outside wall. A sixty-foot section slowly, almost gracefully, fell inward. The crash echoed from buildings throughout the city. Flashes of energy could be seen through the hole. 

Peter grinned. "You always can tell where the X-Men have been. I think he will fit in with us very well." 

Kurt stood. "I just got Wolverine's signal. Time to move." _{And pray we make it in time.}_


	12. Profound Revelations

Chapter Eleven - Profound Revelations

Greg cursed the bitter logic that held him here. He was the distraction. He had to be. He had been the only one who could be at all convincing as Wolverine. They had very different body types but they'd counted on the Magsitrates seeing what they expected to see. His field blocked most of the signature the mutant-detectors picked up, but enough would get through for them to be sure to spot him. 

And now the Genoshans knew where he was. He couldn't make a break for the Genegineer's lab, it would just bring forces down on the rest of the X-Men headed there. His job was to draw the fire in his direction. 

_{On the bright side, the best way to keep these schmucks occupied is to take out my frustrations on them. I can deal with that.}_ Fortress sliced another huge chunk of roof free, dropping it onto Punchout. It crushed two APC's in the process. He had already done millions of dollars in property damage, and as far as he was concerned, this was just the warmup. _{God help this whole damned island if they don't make it in time to save Rogue,}_ he thought grimly. 

Clearly, Wolverine had done his job. The opposition Greg faced was chaotic and disorganized. Fortress could move faster than they could redeploy, so as long as he kept them off-balance and on the defensive, he was fairly safe despite being outnumbered. 

------------

He yelped as he awoke. Logan was tightening down the straps that held him to a chair. Hardishane quickly took stock - his right arm and his left shin were broken, and he was pretty sure he was going to lose some teeth. But he wasn't dead, and that scared him a great deal. 

Swiftly, he glanced around. The techs and command crew were bandaged and stacked in one corner. The Chief, hogtied, was glaring at both him and Wolverine with equal fury. Hardishane looked at the armored door, and groaned inwardly. The control panel next to it was intact, of course. Destroying those only worked in the movies; there was a perfectly good one on the outside. But the clawmarks in the wall next to the door were leaking hydraulic fluid. It would not be opening under its own power anytime soon. 

He glared at Wolverine, mustering a brave front. "Okay, freak, how the hell did you get in here? That door was sealed, I figured you'd have to cut through it." 

Logan was sitting next to him, tapping at the keyboard of the only intact console in the room. "Through the service conduit." 

Hardishane got genuinely angry. "Bullshit. You couldn't fit, nobody could. It was designed that way." 

Wolverine didn't even look up from what he was doing. "Ever see _Lethal Weapon_, bub?" 

Hardishane couldn't tell if it was despair or his injuries that made him feel so sick. "You dislocated your shoulder," he muttered quietly. "Maybe both of 'em. Why not? Thirty seconds after you'd popped 'em back, a doctor couldn't tell it'd ever happened." He looked at the readout on Logan's screen. "Hey, what the hell are you doing?" 

Wolverine grinned again. "Just watch. This should be entertaining." 

------------

"You present an interesting challenge," the Genegineer mused. "I'd love to study your biology further, but I'm afraid the military wing is pressuring me to convert you as quickly as possible." 

"Don't rush on my account," Rogue spat. 

"As it stands, once you've been 'reset', you would make a good temporary replacement for mutates that are damaged or fail for some reason." Rogue felt a chill from the casual way he talked about people 'failing' like auto parts, and spared a glance at Storm. "But really, we always need more of every classification." 

"Not so easy to make 'replacement parts' out of people, huh?" Rogue said contemptuously. 

Her sarcasm was lost on Moreau. "No, it's not. Cloning has turned out to be rather more difficult than we had hoped. Most of the embryos fail, and even the few successes we've had won't be useful for years." 

Moreau looked up. "To return to the subject at hand, I'm reasonably certain I can amplify your own internal power generation, and minimize the amount of energy you draw from others. This way you will more duplicate the abilities of others rather than stealing them." He grew thoughtful, again. "That will take a bit more work, however. I'm afraid this will not be pleasant for you, miss." 

"Doesn't really matter what Ah feel, though, does it?" Rogue asked sarcastically. "It's not like Ah volunteered." 

He began to work his controls. "Fortunately, we don't need you conscious for the initial steps. Just relax." Rogue suddenly felt unbearably weary, as the machines worked to set up a strong alpha rythm in her brain. The last image she saw before she blacked out was of Moreau studying a schematic of her body. 

------------

The members of Tango Company weren't prone to introspection, and most especially weren't prone to despair or even self-doubt. So, when the situation got difficult, their usual response was to get angry. Right now they were livid. 

Command wasn't answering any calls; they hadn't heard from anyone higher than Captain since the mess started. Policy in that case was to hold position. Unlike a few other companies, they had stayed put, reluctantly, despite the disturbingly intense rumblings from the battle on the other side of the Citadel. 

Then, two obvious muties had appeared at the end of the hall, headed toward them. A couple of girls in garish costumes, strolling hand-in-hand like they were best friends on their way home from school. Of course they'd opened fire. But it didn't do any good; blasts, slugs, and rays just seemed to go through the genejokes. That only made the Magistrates redouble their efforts, but the corridor was suffering a lot more than the girls. 

With all the noise from the weapons, it was hardly suprising that they didn't notice the soft **BAMF** behind them, or pick up on the smell of sulfur over the gunsmoke. Of course, Tango Company did notice when Nightcrawler and Colossus tore into them. But there wasn't anyone left for Shadowcat and Phoenix to fight when they reached the end of hall. 

------------

Fortress was feeling pretty confident by this point. He was being careful not to cut out too much of the actual building structure, so it wouldn't collapse - only because the other X-Men and, hopefully, Rogue were inside, not out of any concern for what happened to the Magistrates. He'd taken a few shots from various weapons but nothing particularly nasty. 

Then an orange flash narrowly missed him. _{Uh oh, that's that blaster chick!}_ He ducked and shot over horizontally a bit, searching for her location. His eyes found her just as she fired again. **WHOOM**, he was punched up through the ceiling above. 

A few seconds later, the ceiling started dropping down into the hangar, right where Radian was standing. Skybreaker swooped down and pulled her out of the way just before she would have been crushed. Greg, panting a bit, peeked down and saw the pair flying up to him. 

He charged around and past them, landing and hurling some wreckage their way. As he grasped an APC axle and lifted it, by sheer luck he saw someone raising their hands out of the corner of his eye. He turned, his blood ran cold, and he forced himself down through the floor just as fast as he possibly could. 

A terrifyingly familiar flash of light shone above. _{That was Wipeout!}_ Greg was shaking. _{But Kitty said he'd be out for days...}_ Radian, riding Skybreaker, shot down through the hole Fortress had made, and Greg was off, flying down halls, dodging orange rays. 

_{Duh,}_ Greg thought, _{they've got mutant healers. Of course he'd be up and around.}_ In these confined quarters he couldn't get anywhere near his top speed, so he wasn't able to shake Skybreaker. He didn't want to flee; every bit of fire he pulled his way increased the chances of saving Rogue. 

------------

Hardishane smiled, watching the flashing screens. "That punk isn't gonna get away a second time." He glanced at Logan. "And how do you think you're gonna get out of here?" 

"We got a girl who can walk through walls, a telporter, and I wouldn't count the kid out yet. I'll get out just fine." He tapped at some controls. "The other team's gettin' close. Time to start the show." 

------------

Skybreaker was pushing himself just as fast as he could, calling out position every so often to the main force by the hangar. "We're trying to herd him your way! Have Wipeout ready!" The kid was just as fast as they remembered, but Radian was zapping around with abandon, cutting him off as best she could. 

They followed him through a hole he'd just made up to the next level. "He's headed your way! Be ready!" Just then the punk put on a serious burst of speed and rounded the next corner. 

"Affirmative, he's in sight now..." came the crackling voice over the comlink. 

Then Skybreaker and Radian swooped back into the hangar. None of the other forces were in sight, but the kid was cowering in the middle of the floor, just staring at them. "We've got him now! Radian, blast him!" 

"Negative!" he barely heard over the comlink. "Do not..." Radian blasted with everything she had. **WHOOM**! 

But the kid wasn't there anymore. There was some kind of ripple in the air just as she fired, and then the blast of orange radiance slammed into a full company of Magistrates. Skybreaker saw Wipeout thrown the length of the hangar into a wall with sickening force. 

_{A mirror...}_ Skybreaker had time to think. _{On an angle... he was to our right...}_ Then Fortress slammed into them. Hard. 

------------

Moreau was so wrapped up in what he was doing that he didn't notice the sound of gunfire outside the lab. 4705 was not so distracted, and the winds stirred as she tensed up. "Sir, please, get behind me!" 

The Genegineer looked up, but before he could answer the door to the lab bent inward with a resounding crash. He was suddenly swept up in a wind and thrown behind some equipment as two more titanic blows by Colosssus burst the door assunder. 

The big Russian was instantly struck by lightning. Nightcrawler appeared next to 4705 with a **BAMF**, but she had expected that and swept him away with a gust of wind. 

Shadowcat and Phoenix had phased into the lab from behind her. A few Magistrate guards were present and opened fire, although they were as disappointed as Tango Company had been. Protected, Phoenix went to work on Storm. Dampers couldn't block her when she was in line-of-sight. 

Mutate 4705 had a very passionate, intense personality, but not a terribly sophisticated one. The emotional and mental discipline that Storm possessed had been deliberately blunted to produce someone who would follow orders without question. Rachel took ruthless advantage of this, snaking deep into 4705's mind, convincing her that Moreau had ordered her to go to sleep. 

4705 was utterly incapable of questioning orders, or even, less than a day after her 'birth', rationally evaluating them. She collapsed, unconscious, without further resistance. Phoenix began the difficult work of reintegrating Storm's personality as Kitty raced to phase Rogue out of the machines and the collar that held her. 

Kurt and Peter finished taking care of the Magistrate guards and moved the few terrified techs to a corner of the lab. Peter kept watch for any company at the door while Kurt guarded the prisoners. Rogue, freed from the grip of the machines, was waking up. 

"Ohh... Hey!" She sat up quickly, taking stock. A big relieved grin spread across her face. "Oh, man, am Ah glad to see you guys! An' man oh man am Ah glad that Ah'm glad!" 

"How do you feel?" Kitty asked, concerned. 

"Great. Lemme check somethin'..." she levitated off the ground for a moment. "Still got mah powers!" _{An Carol, too, Ah see. Sorry, honey, guess we're stuck with each other for a while longer.}_ She looked around. "Where's Fortress?" 

"He's keeping the rest of these jerks busy. I'll call him now." Shadowcat hit the signal to let Greg know they'd found Rogue. She looked up to see Rogue marching over to Moreau. 

"Okay, sugar, you an' me are gonna have a little talk," she said, murder in her eyes. "I've half a mind to stuff you in those machines an' hit the 'go' button. Wonder how you'd like bein' brainwashed?" 

Moreau looked back bravely. "You wouldn't have the first idea how to operate that equipment." 

"Soon as Ah touch you Ah will," she said with an evil grin, ripping off a glove. The Genegineer went pale. 

"Rogue, stand down!" Nightcrawler called. "You keep an eye on them," he motioned to the cowering techs, "I want to talk to him myself." Rogue glared at him for a moment, but reluctantly switched places. "Phoenix, how are you coming with Storm?" he asked as he approached the Genegineer. 

She didn't look up; a bit of sweat had gathered on her brow. "This is going to take a while, but I think we made it in time. Please don't interrupt me unless you have to." 

Nightcrawler turned to Moreau. "So, you're responsible for all this? Imprisoning and brainwashing mutants, putting them to work in your factories and farms? Building the entire Genoshan economy on the backs of mutant prisoner labor?" he asked forcefully. 

"Those 'prisoners' are well cared for. Plenty of food, medical care, and the work they do is well within their capabilities. Millions of starving people would trade places with them in a moment." The Genegineer was supremely confident of his own position. 

"So why are you keeping 'Genosha's miracle' a secret? If this system is so wonderful, why not tell the world? If your 'mutates' are so happy, why the armed guards, the brainwashing?" 

"Of course we keep it secret. The bleeding hearts would be all over us if everyone knew we were exploiting our mutant resources... and then every government in the world would go after our techniques covertly so they could do it themselves." 

"But you treat mutants like machines! You arrest them, tamper with their bodies, forbid them from having children, brainwash them, and if anyone's lucky enough to escape, you invade other countries to get them back!" 

"We have no choice!" The Genegineer said, angry and defensive. He'd been prepared for a physical threat, not a debate. "This island would be an inhospitable rock without their powers! They have a duty to their country!" 

Fortress swooped in, looking a bit strange in Wolverine's ragged costume. The mask didn't really fit his face, but Rogue was still glad to see the grin he flashed her. He was thrilled to see her up and unharmed. He slapped a forcefield across the doorway and called out, "I'm no Genoshan citizen. What gave you the right to try kidnap me?" 

"You!" the Genegineer glowered. "You nearly killed some of our best mutates!" 

"You people knocked me out, messed with my powers, and started to brainwash me. So far as I'm concerned, it was self-defense, schmuck." 

"Fortress, maintain your position, if you please. I'll handle this." Nightcrawler turned to face the Genegineer. "So, Dr. David Moreau, you admit to it? And to the genetic tampering, and cloning research?" 

"Of course I 'admit to it'," Moreau said, defiant. "You're standing in my laboratory. My work has made Genosha the envy of every country in the region," he said proudly. 

"And if some people need to be sacrificed for the greater good, so be it, right? What if your son was a mutant, would you 'sacrifice' him? Why not 'genetically modify' any normal people?" 

"It wouldn't work. Two weeks ago, a girl died when someone tampered with the records. We thought she was a mutant, and the modification process failed." 

"What's the saying? Can't make an omelette without breaking eggs?" Kurt looked just as fierce as the demon he resembled. 

"That's right, despite your sarcasm! Go ahead, kill me! My work will continue!" 

"We don't need to kill you. We've gotten what we need." Kurt smiled. All the other X-Men joined him with the exception of Rogue, who looked back, confused. 

"What? What the devil do you mean by that?" Moreau demanded. 

"You'll find out soon enough." He glanced at Phoenix, who was still busy with Storm, though she seemed marginally less tense. "Rogue, if you'll do the honors..." and he waved toward the equipment in the lab. 

"With pleasure," she replied, cracking her knuckles. 

------------

Hardishane and the Chief stared helplessly at the screens showing the auburn-haired mutant joyously and thoroughly trashing the Genegineer's lab, despair welling up inside them. "You bastards," Hardishane said quietly, to Wolverine. "You set him up." 

Logan looked as content as a cat that had just eaten a particularly tasty canary. "Yup, and he walked right into it. I just sent that feed to every news satellite in this hemisphere. Moreau's little speech is gonna be running every hour on CNN inside of half a day." 

"You know he's right. Every government on Earth will be after us, and they'll just do what we're doing," the Chief said, trying to wipe the grin off of Wolverine's face. 

She succeeded. Wolverine looked philosophical now. "You might be right. Then again, people tend to protest things like this if their noses are rubbed in it, if they can't claim ignorance, eh? Personally, I bet you're in for a change of government, 'Chief'. You didn't see me put that on Genosha's Emergency Broadcast System, did you?" Her jaw dropped. 

"Anyway, time for me to get going," Logan said, engaging his comlink to summon the other X-Men. "But, before I take off..." He tapped at the console one last time. 

The screens filled with a shot of the restrained Hardishane and the Chief, still being sent out to the world. The mercenary grunted in horror. "No, wait! Stop!" He could see it now; he was wanted by half the intelligence agencies on the planet... and now they'd know right where he was, and what shape he was in. 

The Chief was equally apalled. _{Now we'll be associated with Hardishane! Even if we could paper over the rest of this mess somehow, what other country would trust us now?}_


	13. Peaceful Recovery

Chapter Twelve - Peaceful Recovery

_{Windrider,}_ Storm thought, glorying in the name, a reality again. _{Goddess, thank you!}_

She soared, high above the clouds, riding the jet stream over Conneticut. Storm had awakened, herself again, in the Blackbird. The other X-Men had filled her in through tears of joy. Her memories of '4705' felt strange and foreign, like a nightmare best forgotten. Part of her had wanted to fly back, to drop a tornado onto the Citadel, but in the end she had been persuaded to wait and see how the revelations played out on the world scene. 

The night sky was as beautiful as she'd remembered. She hadn't allowed herself to realize how much she had missed it. She wasn't cold, of course - the winds could be as warm as she liked - but she still shivered at how close she had come to being a slave, forever. The memories of how she had gleefully attacked her friends was chilling, and she knew she would have nightmares about it for a long time to come. Not wanting to sleep yet, she had set out on a nighttime flight, and gone further than she intended. 

There was some good news. The Magistrates had plenty of information about the X-Men's powers and tactics, but had not hurried to debrief her on more than that. Their identies and headquarters remained secret, to everyone's relief. No one was sure if her hair would grow back, but if that was the price she paid for her freedom, she would give it up gladly. 

Ororo focused on the joy of having her powers again. She closed her eyes, perceiving the world as patterns of energy, as flow and balance and potential. The thunderheads to the west sang their fury, the winds chanted a melody, the cold front from the north hummed in harmony. Somehow she would find a way to thank Rachel, someday. 

_{Where shall I go now?}_ she pondered. _{Perhaps I should rattle the windows of a certain penthouse in Dallas.}_ she thought, smiling. The winds, still warm and clean, shifted and intensified. _{Yes, I can make it there by morning...}_

------------

Rogue waited until she was positive that Greg was asleep, then carefully pulled away from him and out of the bed. Normally she wore pajamas at night, but not when Greg was staying over, and he wasn't permitted a stitch himself. She wasn't the type to sleep on the far side of the bed, either. He'd mumbled once about feeling 'crowded', but her glare had shut him up pretty fast. Draping her whole body next to his was a luxury she refused to forego. 

Not willing to risk the slightest creak of a floorboard, she floated over to her closet and silently opened the bag she hadn't had a chance to unpack yet. Quietly she pulled out the power-damping collar and gazed at it, idly turning it over in her hands. It was one of the ones Kitty had modified. Rogue had palmed it almost without thinking, and managed to smuggle it back. She was fairly sure no one had noticed. 

She pondered the potential it represented. _{Ah could almost have a normal life with this. Some women have a diaphragm or somethin', Ah'd just need this.}_ She glanced at Greg, then back. _{Ah could be with most anybody. Just like any woman. Heck, I could just wear shorts once in a while.}_ She looked at Greg again. _{Ah don't even need to use it now. Ah can keep it, just in case...}_

She hovered there for a very long time. _{...and that'd be like sayin' to Greg, "You'll do, unless somethin' better comes along." Yeah, right. "Ah'm committed to us, except..."}_ Slowly, quietly, she squeezed and kneaded the collar into unrecognizable debris, and deposited the remnants in the trash in her bathroom. 

She slipped into bed next to Greg, sidling up and trying to get every square inch of skin contact she could. _{Ah just don't want anyone but him,}_ she thought. _{An' maybe that means Ah can believe he doesn't want anyone but me.}_ Rogue kissed his neck gently. Greg stirred, shifted, and settled again. She listened to his breathing, drifting off to sleep herself. 

------------

Mutate 1321 kept watch at the door. Her ability to damp vibrations had earned her the nickname "Hush", and now she was trying to use it without alerting the guards. It was easier now, there was less sound to suppress. A Magistrate walked across the wall, just a shape in the darkness. 

Mutate 4516 was panting quietly, crying, but the worst was over now. She laid her baby on her skinsuit, the only cloth she had. Her powers allowed her to remove it at will, though she'd never let the Magistrates know. They had also masked the changes in her shape as the pregnancy had progressed. One other mutate had a similar ability, but at night the men were in a different part of the camp. He would find out about his son tomorrow. 

4516 let out a gasp as 6332 withdrew from her mind; the mental blocks that dulled the pain dissolved, but they had gotten her through the delivery. She smiled her thanks, and 6332 snuck out, back to her own cell. 

"Maybe this the last time you touch skinsuit, baby boy," she whispered quietly. He was still letting out a few lusty cries, but Hush kept the sound from leaking outside the room. All the mutates had heard about the broadcast from those who had been in the city two days ago. The Magistrates had brought everyone back to the camp early, and had tripled the guards on the fence. They had not gone to work yesterday, and no one knew if they would go to work tomorrow or not. 

It made keeping the birth secret more difficult, but the mutates that hadn't been through the new process were full of hope. Surely the world would help them, now that they knew. Surely her son would be allowed to grow up free. 4516, who had once been called Sondra, prayed in the dark as she tried to suckle her baby for the first time. 

_End_


	14. Appendix

Appendix

High Up

L. Cheney

They keep me waiting  
Can't stand waiting  
There's so much that must be done  
Before I get my elevation  


I said I need it  
Can't you see I need it  
These distractions keep me down  
Oh can't you sense my desperation  


What else could matter  
I mean, can't you see  
Oh, what else matters  
When your whole heart's aching to be free  


Oh the sky is calling me  
Got to get up past five thousand feet  
Don't you know that's where I have to be  
High up  
Among the clouds  
Flying  
I've never felt so free  
High up  
Among the clouds  
What else do I need  


I don't want to come back down  
Don't make me come back down  


It's such a feeling  
It just sends me reeling  
Like I could reach and touch the sun  
It's way beyond all expectations  


Like a shot of perfection  
By hypodermic injection  
It would hook most anyone  
You'd see with just one demonstration  


What else could matter  
Come on, can't you see  
Oh, what else matters  
When your whole heart's aching to be free  


Give me full velocity  
Shooting up to twenty thousand feet  
Can't you see that's where I've got to be  
High up  
Above the clouds  
Flying  
At supersonic speed  
High up  
Above the clouds  
What else could I need  


I don't want to come back down  
Can't make me come back down  


Oh can't you sense my desperation  


I've got to feel that exhilaration  


Got the opportunity  
Gonna take it to the nth degree  
Taking off and pouring on the speed  
High up  
Above the clouds  
Flying  
Means everything to me  
High up  
Above the clouds  
Nothing else I need  


Got to be high up  
Don't keep me tied up  
Got to be flying  
Got to be flying  
Oh, high up  
Oh, high up  


(Sung to the tune of "Tied Up" by Olivia Newton-John. Guitar solo substituted for flute solo.) 


End file.
